Voice of the Old Gods
by JayRain
Summary: Theo Trevelyan swore he was through saving the world and retired. His husband, Dorian Pavus, began a new life as a Magister in Minrathous. But a Titan stirs deep below the Storm Coast, and the Old Gods whisper in the darkness of Minrathous's streets. Theo and Dorian must uncover what's lurking in Tevinter's shadows before it's too late. And with these two, nothing is simple...
1. The New Normal

The purple-gray clouds pressed down, threatening a storm; though so far it only rained lightly as Maranda navigated the muddy path to the stables. Overhead gulls cried to one another. If they were coming inland, the worst of the storm was surely on the way. The occasional gust of wind whipped her long brown hair into her face and she pushed it back impatiently. Her boots squelched in the mud; there was no avoiding it. She didn't mind it though. Her lightning magic flitted inside of her, eager to greet the oncoming storm. Maybe later she would go out to watch it. But first, she had a task. The letters in her hand were getting slightly soggy.

The sweet smell of hay and horse welcomed her when she entered the much warmer and drier stable. As a little girl in the Ostwick Circle, Maranda often enjoyed slipping off to the stables whenever she could, even though she wasn't supposed to. The pungent scent of those stables reminded her of the home she could never return to. And now, as she wandered down the aisle, trailing her hand along the rough wooden stall doors and pausing to scratch some of the horses behind their ears, she was home.

It hadn't been the easy transition she'd dreamed of as a young girl, especially when the mage-templar war broke out. The Ostwick Circle remained as neutral as possible, for as long as it possibly could, but the fighting ended up on their doorstep, as it had with many other Circles across Thedas. She escaped to the only place she hoped she could be safe: the Trevelyan manor, where her parents had welcomed her with open arms. She woke some nights wary of templars and fearing abominations, and occasionally added a sprinkle of magebane mix to her nightly tea to keep the dreams at bay for part of the night.

Home wasn't always where you'd grown up, something Maranda had learned when her Circle fell, and when she'd come back to the manor. So she knew, to a certain extent, how her baby brother was feeling, even if he wouldn't listen to her when she told him so.

Maranda found Theodane toward the back of the stable grooming his deep chestnut gelding: a slow task for him. She knew he'd also insist on cleaning and storing the tack right afterward. But the whole family, and by now most of the staff, knew better than to offer help. It was his defense mechanism: he could hide behind having work to get done, and avoid everyone that way.

Theo had just finished currying his horse and set to work on the hooves. His Fereldan Forder stood patient and still, resting its fetlock on Theo's knee so he could dig out the muck caught there. "I know you're there," he said with a slight grunt as he leaned into the horse's leg for better leverage. "You can toss everything. I'm not interested. And just have dinner sent down. I'll be a while tonight."

"No, I know, and again, no." Maranda dug in her pocket and produced a sugar cube. Arion, Theo's horse, whickered softly and took the sugar from her. Theo just sighed and worked at the clods of mud and small stones. Maranda leaned against a stall door and began looking through the letters. "This one's from Starkhaven. Shall I see what your friend the Prince has to say?"

Theo shrugged. "He's not my friend, and if it's some dreck about being grateful to the Maker for my sufferings, I don't want to hear it."

He had a point. Maranda shifted the letter aside. "This one's from Kirkwall." She broke the seal and opened it when Theo didn't object. "The Viscount would like you to remember you have a Hightown home at your disposal should you choose to take a holiday there. And he can still beat you at Wicked Grace."

Theo cracked a rare ghost of a smile. "Kind of hard to hide your hand when… Well. You know."

"At least you have a sense of humor now. A bit macabre, but it's a start. Shall I save this one?" Theo nodded and scooted over to Arion's back hooves. "Junk… some noble from Orlais or other…"

"How did they track me down?" he muttered. Arion flicked his tail in Theo's face. "Enough from you, Horse."

"Either their networks are as extensive as yours used to be, or they figured you'd come back here eventually. Oh, this one's from Val Royeaux. Maker's breath, Theo, only you would have the Divine sending you personal letters," she said, shaking her head. When Theo didn't respond she opened it. "She says this is the third time she's written, she knows you're still alive and would like to know why you're not replying."

"I'm busy."

Maranda appraised him. In her boots, breeches, and loose, flowy blouse, she hardly looked like the Circle mage she'd been most of her life, but at least, aside from the muddy boots her clothes were clean. "Busy doing a lot of nothing and getting filthy?" she teased, but it was true: after an afternoon of taking Arion through his paces, including a few jumps, Theo had fallen into the mud countless times.

She rubbed Arion's velvety nose while Theo worked on the last hoof. "You can do your tack after dinner, you know." He sighed and picked up the soft brush, and brushed Arion's coat to a deep sheen. "Mum will have them keep dinner warm until after you've cleaned up."

"It's no bother, she can just-"

"Theo. I think our parents would like to spend time with their son," she said gently. "They've hardly seen you in the last few weeks. I wouldn't mind getting to know my kid brother a bit better, too."

She undid Arion's cross ties and looped her hand under the halter. Theo leaned his forehead against his horse's neck. "You're going to stand there until I come in, aren't you," he said after a long moment. He pushed his hair out of his face, leaving behind a smudge of dirt. His hair was too short to pull back, but too long to keep out of his face; his facial scruff was a borderline beard at this point.

Maranda figured he preferred this look, as it made him almost unrecognizable from the Inquisitor he had been. "Just so you know," she said as they approached the back entry of the manor, "that necklace you keep on your bedside table was glowing."

Theo paused and looked up at the darkening clouds, then back toward the stable. "I really should finish up with Arion."

"Andraste's _arse_ , Theo, please just come inside." Maranda grabbed his wrist. A large, cold raindrop plopped onto her head. "I'm sorry I said anything. And take your boots off first, or Nola will never let us hear the end of it."

Theo gazed up at the rain and then down at himself, all covered in dirt. "Fine. Don't say I never did anything for you though." He tried to smile, though his eyes were distant.

"Don't do this for me," Maranda told him. "Or for our parents. Do it for yourself. Theo." He paused and looked back at her. "It's an awful road to walk. Don't walk it alone." He just nodded and shrugged one shoulder before heading down the hall.

Theo had only returned home a just under a month ago. He refused to talk about the Inquisition or its fate. He refused to respond to letters from his friends, if he even read them in the first place. He refused to explain why his husband, Dorian, who'd been planning to come back to Ostwick with him, had gone to Tevinter instead. Theo kept to himself, secretive and sullen.

Maranda knew what a difficult transition it must be, and she wished he'd at least let her talk to him beyond small talk in the stables, or in the halls between meals. Frankly, he'd amazed her when he agreed to come in just now. She paused in her room to freshen up before dinner. Her fingers tingled slightly, so she opened the window and smelled the air. She'd always been able to tell when a storm was coming. It was how they'd found out she was a mage to begin with.

The summer she turned nine… the mournful cries of gulls… purple clouds billowing in from the east… the tingle in her hands. The sheets of rain falling as she stood in the field, and the way the first bolt of lightning reached out to her, how she reached back and laughed when her bolt met that one. And then the terror on her parent's faces, quickly replaced by sadness as they wrapped her in a cloak and walked home.

Her Uncle Cadan arrived later the next day.

She wove her long hair into a braid to keep it out of her face and headed to the sitting room. "Need me to take care of that?" she asked her father, who sipped at a glass of whiskey. His momentary hesitation would probably never go away; but he nodded and held out the glass, and Maranda touched two fingers to it. The glass frosted over and the whiskey instantly chilled. She'd been afraid to use her magic when she first came home; but over time her parents were less fearful, less adamant about clinging to tradition, and now she did small spells and cantrips openly.

"Thank you. Can I pour you some?" He nodded toward the decanter. Maranda shook her head and took a seat. "Did you talk some sense into your brother?"

"He did come in, yes. Not sure if that's the sense you wanted me to achieve, but I guess it's a start. He's… stubborn," she said at last, even though that didn't quite feel like the right word.

"He had to be, to do the things he did." Her father finished off his drink. He forced a smile. "Dinner?"

* * *

Theo had a long list of things he didn't want to think about, let alone talk about.

He didn't know where to begin for one, and if anyone would or could understand just how much he had lost as the Inquisitor. It had given him the purpose he'd never had, and the identity he'd craved. Now, as he worked to get cleaned up after a day of falling off his horse in the mud, he was no one.

He gritted his teeth and began the arduous task of combing through his wild hair, and then trimming up his beard. The scar down the side of his face had faded some, a reminder of chasing ghosts and fighting monsters and saving the world. Now he could hardly even dress himself. He shrugged into clean clothing; a tailor had worked to modify his wardrobe to make it easier to dress with only one arm, including altering the left arm of all of his shirts so it wouldn't dangle; the visual tended to discomfit some people.

But he still had so much to get used to.

Pain where there shouldn't _be_ pain, for one. Sometimes his left hand hurt so badly it woke him up; he expected the throbbing green glow of his mark, only it wasn't there-and neither was the hand. Occasionally his wrist itched, but there was nowhere to scratch. He'd reach for something and his hand would pass through the air, because his hand just wasn't there. Nevermind how damned long it took to do everything one-handed.

At last Theo was more presentable than he'd been in a few days, and he hated to admit it, but it felt good. Covered in mud, hiding out in the stables or down by the ocean made it easy to sink into that feeling of being nobody. Cleaned up, properly dressed, and ready to sit down with his family for a meal? He had to be Theo Trevelyan. Another wave of discomfort surged through him: just who _was_ that?

The Theo Trevelyan he'd known was an archer who rivaled even Prince Sebastian Vael. That Theo Trevelyan commanded armies and the respect and gratitude of empresses. That Theo Trevelyan's marked left hand sparked curiosity and fear. He was the Theo Trevelyan who was completely unabashed at the fact that a handsome Tevinter mage shared his adventures as well as his bed.

No. He wasn't that Theo anymore. He often had to remind himself that he just needed to learn how to live again, and an identity would eventually follow. He was doing a pretty shitty job at it, but he'd been a pretty shitty Inquisitor when that started too, to be completely honest. He took a deep breath and slipped through the secret passages and halls he'd come to know as a child. He had a hundred memories connected to the manor home. It had hardly changed, while he was a completely different person.

He smelled dinner as he neared the kitchens and his stomach rumbled. He slipped out into the hallway, swallowed his nerves, and stepped out into the family dining room. Conversation stopped when he appeared, but the silence didn't linger. His family tried to be as normal as possible with him, which he found strange: what _was_ normal for the Trevelyans these days?

"Welcome, son." Bann Alick Trevelyan rose from his seat at the head of the table. He smiled warmly and gestured for Theo to sit. "We were just talking about how nice it is to see you riding again."

Theo sat down. "True, I did do more riding than falling this time. Arion's a good horse. Nice and patient." The chowder course came out and talk turned to horses; the family crest bore a horse, and the Trevelyans were well versed in horsemanship, lore, and breeding. The Bann of Wycome offered a mare to breed with Alick's stallion; Starkhaven proposed interbreeding with some horses of Antivan stock; meanwhile Ostwick's horsemasters were choosing the best destriers to ride at the Grand Tourney in Tantervale next spring.

Theo ate his chowder while his father did most of the talking. Skyhold had had many things, including a team of skilled chefs, but nothing compared to the freshness of fish caught off the coast of Ostwick. His afternoon in the drizzle and mud left him famished. He glanced up to see his mother watching him, but she quickly looked away when she saw him. It had to be ironic: three of her children were off with their own families, and Gavriel had died a little over three years ago. Now the two children she'd probably thought lost to the Chantry forever were both home. Damaged, but home.

The servants swept away the chowder crocks; the main dish, individual fish pies with flaky, buttery crust, came out. "So, Theodane." Alick dug into his steaming pot pie. "Have you heard from anyone of late?"

It came out casual and innocent, but Theo's fork hovered over his own fish pie. He stared down at the browned crust. "Not really." Under the table, Maranda kicked him. When he glanced up, she mouthed _letters?_ "I think they're all busy." He averted his eyes from his sister. He took a huge, steaming forkful of his dinner and blew on it before shoving it in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk more.

"The Viscount of Kirkwall offered him a place to stay if he felt the need for a holiday," Maranda said, and Theo glared at her. "Maybe before the end of the summer? Kirkwall isn't that far away. I could go too," she added, glancing up at her parents. "It seems safer now under Divine Victoria."

Their parents agreed that would be a grand idea; Theo just poked at his dinner. He didn't know how he felt about visiting Kirkwall. The last time he'd been there had been part of a pilgrimage on the way to the Conclave. Now Varric lived there and would probably want him to read his memoir: _All This Shit Is Weird._ Yes, the shit had been weird. No, he didn't want to talk about it, let alone read an embellished version of it.

"Anything from Dorian?" His father asked, and Theo dropped his fork. "I had been looking forward to seeing my son-in-law, but hearing from him will suffice."

"No. He's busy." Theo forced himself to keep eating, pretending things were alright. He'd been purposely vague on the details of why his husband was in Tevinter while he'd come back to Ostwick: the opposite end of the world from him. "What's going on with Matty and his family? Or Gwyn, or Thisbe?" He kept his voice even. _They're your family. They care about you. They care about each other, and Dorian's their family now, too. That's why they're asking._

"Well, Matthias's youngest daughter was accepted at the University of Markham, and his oldest will be traveling to Hircinia to work with their Bann regarding estate management for the spring season. It's possible Lady Thistlewaite's son may end up being a suitable match," his mother said before Alick could say anything else.

Talk turned to Theo and Maranda's nieces and nephews. The Trevelyans' standing in the Free Marches had increased exponentially with Theo's run as Inquisitor. He was glad that his family benefitted from his status. There had been a time when he had been angry and resentful that his father thought to gain from Theo's position. Only after he'd survived Corypheus, did he realize the need to reconcile with his family. They'd made such a spirited effort, too: welcoming Dorian as their own, accepting Theo's adventuring spirit, allowing Theo to come home and huddle away in the guest wing of their manor after he'd spent over three years as the most powerful man in the world.

He finished his fish pot pie and rested his napkin on the table. "I'm kind of tired after being thrown off a horse all day, so I think I might retire," he announced. He ignored his itchy non-wrist.

"Good night," his father said with a smile. "Thank you for joining us. It was nice to have this time together."

"Perhaps this can happen more often." Cordelia sounded hopeful, and she nodded as she said it. "It's nice to be family again." She looked away from him. "Maranda, tell me again about work?"

Theo just nodded and headed back to his rooms. He didn't know much about Maranda still; he hadn't asked, and she hadn't been very forthcoming. Other than sharing the surname Trevelyan, space in the manor, and the same green eyes, he and Maranda were completely different.

His parents had let him set up in the remote guest wing, in a comfortable room with a canopy bed, well-stocked writing desk, fireplace, two leather chairs and a small table, and a private rest room. A leaded glass window overlooked the orchards. Heavy rains slashed against the window.

He slipped off his soft house shoes and climbed into the bed. It was far smaller than his bed in Skyhold had been, but still felt large and lonely without Dorian to share it. They'd managed to share camp cots, fur piles, and bed rolls. Theo took the sending crystal necklace off the bedside table and rubbed his thumb across it. Dorian hadn't had the chance to teach him how to use it, though through no fault of his.

It wasn't just that Dorian had to leave for Tevinter. It was that Dorian had _planned_ on leaving before he'd even come to the Exalted Council. _That's_ what hurt, at least then. The pain he felt now came from knowing that Dorian had needed him in that moment to support and care for him. Dorian's father had been assassinated; his family legacy was on the line; he had a chance to truly make a difference in his homeland. And Theo had been petulant and stubborn and let him leave.

As he did every night, he held the crystal tight in his hand. _I'm sorry, Dorian,_ he thought. _I'm sorry._ The lazy pearlescent swirl below the surface never changed. He'd written out pages of apologies to read, if by chance Dorian ever answered. "I love you," he whispered, voice cracking.

No answer.

He shoved the crystal under his pillow. He worked his shirt off and stared at the scarred stump. The Anchor was nothing more than a magical parasite, feeding on him until there was nothing left. He'd have died if Bull hadn't taken off his forearm. But lying here, staring at what remained, it felt like that emptiness was killing him too.

Theo looked over at the fireplace where his bow had been mounted on a plaque above the hearth, like a trophy or accessory. He couldn't stand looking at it. That's all he was anymore to anyone, it seemed. He rolled out of bed. He lifted his bow off the plaque, the comfortable weight in his hand nearly bringing him to tears. He knelt down by the hearth and held the bow toward the low flames. The glow shone in the polished wood and though he told himself he wanted it to burn, he couldn't cast it into the fire.

Theo dropped it and threw himself back into bed. He needed to do _something,_ anything but languish here like some forgotten relic. He slid his hand under the pillow and clutched the crystal. He'd come home to try living again. He could still do that, but he had to figure out who he was now, and what he wanted to be. He blew out the candle and rolled over in bed.

Right now, he was tired. Right now, he wanted to be asleep.


	2. When in Tevinter

Dorian's office windows faced southeast and overlooked down over the winding streets and crumbling buildings of Minrathous. He'd been home for almost two months. He thrived in the sunlight and warmth of northern Tevinter, and while he hated to admit it, he was getting better with the politics of the Imperial Senate. But the breeze from the Nocen Sea smelled of salt and melancholy and stirred up regrets he wished he didn't feel. Every time he looked at the sending crystal, silent these last weeks, the raw pain grated within him.

Someone rapped on the door and he smoothed his robes. While everyone in the senate knew about his past with the Inquisition, he was in Tevinter permanently now. It would not do to show sentimentality, which was equivalent to weakness. No matter how deeply he felt it.

"Come in," he called, settling in the leather chair behind his desk. He swept the sending crystal pendant into a drawer and slammed it shut just as the door creaked open. "Mae. I'm glad it's not someone else," he teased.

Maevaris Tilani, another magister from Qarinus, slipped into the office and closed the door behind her. She settled into the other chair in the room and crossed her legs demurely. "Did I catch you brooding again?" she asked. Dorian shook his head, but she fixed her blue eyes on him knowingly.

He sighed. There was never any point hiding anything from Mae. "Only a little this time," he said with a smile. "Did you hear from Alcides?"

"He agrees with the Lucerni's position. Taxes are exorbitant, and he believes we can fund subsidies for soporati if we pull funds from the military on Seheron."

"It will never happen," Dorian said. "The Qunari threat provides an excellent excuse for taxing the populace and funding the lavish lifestyle of half the Magisterium. Though they'll never admit to it."

"Half the Magisterium stands to lose their lifestyle if the Qunari take Seheron," Mae pointed out. "The threat's real this time, and we weren't ready. Had you not uncovered the Qunari plot during the Exalted Council—"

"We're not going there, Mae," Dorian said, his smile plastered across his face and a dangerous gleam in his eye. "What's done is done. Did you just come to pester me about brooding?"

"And to let you know about Alcides. But we need more than just his support. Have you met with the Publicanium yet?"

He'd been back in Tevinter two months and had been a full Magister for six weeks of that,and it had been trial by fire from the start. Of course Mae had him embroiled in her machinations right away. He toyed with the quill pen on his desk. "I think they're afraid."

Mae nodded. She twirled a lock of yellow hair around one long finger. "Of course they are. The Magisterium barely gives them the time of day." Sessions that included the entire Senate were few and far between to begin with; when they did happen, the Magisters dominated the floor, passed their motions, and moved on. "Plublicans are too used to being powerless figureheads. And now we're asking them to consider changing that, so they're probably suspicious. I know I would be." She gazed out the window, her mask of bravado faltering momentarily.

The last time he'd been in Minrathous, himself a figurehead ambassador between the Imperium and the Inquisition, Dorian hadn't fully grasped all that was going on below the surface. When he'd been sworn in, Mae arrived at his apartment at sunup the next morning and inundated him with paperwork and briefings before he'd even thought about being fully awake. Now he understood a bit how Theo felt: always at someone's beck and call, always the one expected to have answers when he himself hardly knew what he was doing. There had been no time to settle in, not with his father's untimely assassination.

Dorian shook his head. "Maker's testicles, Mae. I'm not a politician. I can't think like this." He sat back in his chair, conjured a small ball of fire in the palm of his hand and stared into the orange flames. "I never wanted to be a Magister. Especially not like this."

Mae scooted her chair closer and rested her elbows on the desk. "You joined the Inquisition. You've been at the center of Thedas's politics. You've seen things most in the Magisterium have not, regardless of how worldly they'd like to believe they are. You were _made_ for this, Dorian."

There was no convincing her otherwise, so Dorian just smiled and nodded as she got up and left. It was best to just let Mae believe she was right, than to try arguing. Yes, he'd spent three and a half years embroiled in Thedosian politics, deep in the Inquisition. For awhile he even thought he'd stay with the Inquisition forever.

Nothing lasted forever. He knew it going in, and to believe that could change had been foolish. The quiet sending crystal was heavier evidence of that every day.

Not even the Tevinter Imperium could last forever, not this way. It had clung to its former glory like scraps of skin on bone for centuries. It had to change if it wanted to avoid collapsing under the weight of its own decadence. Dorian always knew he would be the one to change it. He'd thought, during his time with the Inquisition, that his role was there; but the longer he stayed, the more he saw worldwide change happening under his watch, the more he longed to return home to Tevinter.

He'd also longed to balance his return with his marriage to Theo Trevelyan; just one year, he'd told him, hopeful that Theo could understand, could give him the time he needed. He _knew_ the circumstances were less than ideal. He'd told Theo that. Theo hadn't spoken to him since, and it ached deep within him, in a place he didn't know existed, for reasons he couldn't put words to.

He once swore he would never be a Magister, and now here he was. Most days he barely kept his head above water, and was always both surprised and relieved when he retired to his Minrathous apartments at the end of each day. He put back a couple of drinks and had a light dinner and wished he had Theo's arm around him, holding him close; his voice in his ear, telling him it would be alright, that he was doing the right thing. If he were to affect change, to make his promises to himself and the Inquisitor mean something, this was where he had to be.

The last thing he needed was to undermine what they were working for. That was something Theo had never quite understood. Theo created expectations; Dorian had spent most of his life falling short of them. Granted, they were expectations he'd never wanted to meet in the first place. But now, the expectations were ones he not only _wanted_ to meet, but to exceed. He'd never minded being in Theo's shadow during the Inquisition, but this was the Tevinter Imperium, and this was Dorian's job.

The tall buildings of the capital city cast shadows as he walked the winding streets, though when he looked upward the sky was still rosy with the sunset. The scent of roasting meats and spices wafted out of cafes with sidewalk seating, and Dorian nodded his acknowledgement as he passed a diner he recognized.

"Care to join me for dinner, Pavus?" asked Catullus as Dorian walked by. He leaned over the iron railing separating his table and chair from the sidewalk. Catullus hadn't joined up with Dorian's cause, but he sometimes seemed open to suggestions of reform, even if he did sit on the military finance committee. "The red is well-aged here," he added as he gestured to the empty seat across from him. He was already holding up his wine glass, gesturing to the waiter and holding up two fingers with his other hand.

"I suppose I don't have a choice now, do I," Dorian said over his shoulder as he headed for the gate. He just wanted to go home, maybe mope a bit. His crystal weighed heavy in his pocket, its silence mocking him. Perhaps dinner with Catullus would help. He was vapid enough to be entertaining, and it couldn't hurt to plant more seeds of reform.

Dorian sat and sipped his wine as Catullus went on about his own vineyards in Perivantium. "It's a good deal of work around the harvest time, but well worth it," he said. "Almost as good as this," he added with a sip of his wine and a wink.

"I hear there are many looking for work," Dorian said. The waiter set down a salad of mixed greens with a light oil dressing. "Selling themselves into slavery to settle debts, even." It was one of the more troubling things he'd discovered since his return.

Catullus raised an eyebrow and chewed his salad. He looked like a druffalo. "Are you suggesting that I _hire_ and _pay_ workers?" he asked. He had a strange half smile on his jowly face, as if he couldn't decide if Dorian seriously meant it.

"Well, there's work to be had all over the Imperium, if one were to just look beyond the surface of matters. This is what the Lucerni party encourages," Dorian explained. He pushed his greens around on his plate. Dinner with other Magisters was never a purely social affair; it was always a business meeting with food, as he'd quickly learned as a young enchanter. Politics tended to make him lose his appetite. Though he had no issue drinking, and finished off his wine and called for another.

Catullus chuckled. "You're an idealist, Pavus. Your father did all he could to fit in, and you've done all you can to stand out." He met Dorian's gaze. "Standing out can be dangerous."

"So can complacency," Dorian said with a pleasant smile. He rose and left a few coins on the table. "For the wine I won't be drinking. Enjoy yourself, Catullus." He knew Catullus smirked and chuckled behind his back; he knew that this would cost him in the senate, and he'd probably hear from Mae.

She'd been a Magister for years. She knew the Magisterium, and the Senate as a whole; knew how to maneuver and manipulate. This was her life, her world. The world of Halward Pavus.

Dorian was sworn in as a Magister, but this wasn't his world. He didn't know what his world was anymore.


	3. Dissonant Verses

Mother Marya bowed again. "Please let me know if there is anything not up to standards, your Worship. And if I can do anything-"

"I will request you personally." Theo stifled a sigh. Mother Marya bowed one final time before leaving him to his quiet corner of the Chantry. He understood that she needed to feel necessary; he understood that after three years of essentially ruling over all of Thedas, he would always be the Inquisitor to many people, and he also found it ironic that Mother Marya would be falling all over herself to see to his comforts. After all, she had been the one to prod his father into sending him away.

He'd first come to the Chantry at his father's heartfelt, well-intentioned suggestion shortly after arriving home. Chantry types and townspeople alike mobbed around him: people amazed that the Herald of Andraste was a real person, curious that the Inquisitor was just a slim, pale man in his mid-twenties that hardly stood out in a crowd, especially without his glowing left hand. The way they stared at his left side and whispered and pointed...

Now if he came, he took side roads and wound his way through alleys to throw anyone off his trail. He remembered side entrances from his brief stint as a novitiate, and he used those to slip into the Chantry and find a quiet corner to be alone. Someone always tipped off Mother Marya, but she was easy enough to deal with. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. Petty? Absolutely. He took what entertainment he could find.

He leaned back on the cushioned pew and closed his eyes, glad for the nonjudgmental quiet. At home, everyone talked too much, too loudly, about inconsequential things and hoped he'd join in the conversation, or they said nothing at all for fear of setting him off. They hoped he'd be their son and brother again. Alone in the candlelit, reverent quiet, he could let his guard down a bit; everyone was too afraid of him otherwise.

"Bitter is sorrow, ate raw and often, poison that weakens but does not kill." The low, musical voice had just enough cadence to infuse some life into the Chant verse. A Chanter stood at the entrance of Theo's alcove, hands clasped before him and eyes fixed on Theo.

"It's that obvious?" Theo asked, quirking an eyebrow. It was largely rhetorical, as Chanters took vows to speak only the Chant. He sighed and closed his eyes again.

"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing; an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown." The Chanter didn't move from the doorway. His dark eyes fixed on Theo, seeing him in a way that made him squirm. "Within my Creation, none are alone," the Chanter added with a nod. Like he knew what he was saying. Like he knew how to needle Theo _just so._

Theo leveled his gaze at the Chanter. "And then there are those of us who'd _prefer_ to be left alone." While they spoke only in Chant verses, Theo was certain that a Chanter was allowed comprehend regular rhetoric.

This time it was the Chanter who sighed and- _did he roll his eyes?_ "Arise, Aegis of the Faith." He held out one of his hands. "You are not forgotten. Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery so long as I remember."

"At that his wounds were healed," Theo murmured. He'd heard that verse before, spoken by a musical voice floating over the rush of his fitful, fevered dreams after he'd lost his arm. "Who told you to say that to me?" His ghost hand tingled slightly, making the rush of unpleasant memories all the more painful. "Because this? This isn't healing," he snapped, holding up his left arm. "Go away."

The Chanter finally shrugged. "And so they joined in secret, telling none who were not of the temples of their designs." He furtively glanced around before turning and fading into the shadows.

Theo hadn't encountered many Chanters, but were they _allowed_ to speak the Dissonant Verses? He waited, but no lightning struck, so Dissonant Verses in a Chantry wasn't the heresy he'd once been taught.

Curiosity displaced his anger. Theo got up and headed in the direction the Chanter had gone. He moved quietly in the dim light and caught a glimpse of the other man as he rounded a corner. Theo followed him but he'd vanished down the short hallway. Theo then noticed an alcove with stairs leading down.

Well. Not like he had anything better to do.

He carefully descended the narrow stairs. "Pride refused all measure of blame… they cried out in rage to gods who did not answer." The voice drifted out from the dimness of the Chantry sublevels.

"Are you even allowed to abridge the Chant?" Theo called out, but he quell his intrigue. The Chantry had never been _this_ interesting, even when he was the Inquisitor. "Is the Maker speaking to me through you?" He emerged in a dimly lit stone basement. For one moment he wondered just how many spiders were hiding in corners, ready to scuttle out and bite him. Then he remembered he'd faced far worse, and even if spiders _were_ creepy, he could handle them. As long as they were small.

"Let us not fall into the jaws of the wolf together… go alone and see what army comes, singing, to the lands of Tevinter."

A blade made of ice stabbed into his gut. "Go rot in the Void," Theo whispered, and hoped that lightning _would_ strike. Tears pricked his eyes yet again at the rush of horrible memories that flooded him. He'd faced the Dread Wolf's jaws. Dorian had heeded Tevinter's siren song. Theo hung in the balance, no one and nothing.

"Where the Maker has turned his face away is a Void in all things." The voice was close, and Theo squinted into the dimness. Why he didn't just go back upstairs and wallow alone? "Though suffering from ailments both great and small, his heart was strong and he moved on."

Theo caught a glimpse of the shadowy Chanter, and suddenly something whizzed by his face, nicking his cheek, and _thunked_ into the wooden door beam behind him. Dammit. He _would_ get assassinated in a Chantry. "Who sent you?" he asked. His cheek stung. There was another whistling sound, but he dropped to the ground and rolled away. His left shoulder protested, and he had difficulty getting to his feet quickly. He looked around for something, anything, he could use to defend himself, but he had nothing. No knife, no bow, no glowing green mark able to flay an enemy with pure Fade energy.

"The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but…" The Chanter sighed. "Can we dispense with the charade for the time being and speak plainly now that we are alone?" He lit a torch in a wall bracket before sitting down on a pile of crates. Theo blinked and rubbed the blood off of his cheek. The man squinted at him. "It's not a bad cut, that is good."

Theo furrowed his brow and peered at the Chanter. "You want to make small talk before you kill me?"

He shook his head, still smiling, which seemed odd for an assassin. "I want to make small talk because I need to get to know you and figure out what I'm working with." His dark eyes sparkled in the torch light. He had tanned skin and short dark hair. He was draped in salmon, maroon and gold robes, but Theo had a feeling that under it all he had lean muscles, and that if he weren't wearing robes he'd be fast. Maybe even in robes he'd fight better than most anyone, let alone a one-armed Chantry relic.

"You could start by telling me who you are, and why we're here." This was the most excitement he'd had since coming back home.

" _You_ can call me Cardenio." He brushed past Theo to retrieve his knives. "You still have fairly good reflexes in the dark, so that's a start. I'd be willing to bet your aim is still good as well." Theo opened his mouth, but Cardenio shook his head. "Not with a bow, I know. That's behind you, for now."

"For now? My arm isn't magically growing back."

"No, it's not. The Maker only works so many miracles. What do you think about blades for the time being?" He casually flipped his knives in his hands. Theo stared, mesmerized as he expected Cardenio to accidentally catch the blade and sever a finger. "Knives have a language. If you speak their language, communicate with them, they will communicate with you. When you and the blade work together, anything is possible."

Cardenio's relationship with his blades reminded Theo of how it once felt to shoot: how his bow felt like an extension of his arm and how his back and shoulder muscles could judge the tension of the bowstring. He missed it. And Cardenio's "for now" comment _was_ intriguing, if unrealistic. But he shook his head. "I don't know who sent you or how you found me. But I don't think I can do this. I don't even know if I want to do this." Part of his problem in the end was his increasing need to seek out a fight.

"Valiant hearts sing of victory waiting," Cardenio said, slipping back into Chanter mode. He pulled a hood over his short hair. "To my children venture, carrying wisdom, if they but listen, I shall return." He paused to wink, then he bowed his head and made his way back up the stairs and left Theo alone, mind whirling with doubts and questions.


	4. What It Seems

Maranda had just finished tacking up her horse when she caught a glimpse of Theo sidling into the stable. She looped the reins through the ring on the hitching post and followed him. "I was about to ride to town," she said, and Theo jumped, startled. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but looked like he'd been caught doing something wrong. "I don't mind waiting for you," she ventured. "My boss doesn't mind if I'm a little late."

Theo cocked his head to the side. "Boss?"

"I do the accounts for the apothecary a couple days a week, sometimes more depending on how business is."

Now he looked intrigued. "Really?"

She laughed. "I tried wallowing for a bit, but it got to be too boring so I asked around about work." He looked so stunned that her smile grew. "You helped, you know."

"I did… wait, how?" He waved for her to follow him and allowed her to help him tack up Arion. He rarely allowed anyone to help him.

"Soon as I gave my name everyone realized I was your sister. People just conveniently ignored my being a mage, especially since I didn't use my magic." She worked the buckles of Arion's bridle while Theo leaned into his horse and pulled at the girth on the saddle. Most horses could be finicky and liked to hold their breath when being saddled; Arion had been well trained not to do this.

Theo led Arion out into the yard where Maranda's horse pranced nervously, so she mounted up and started taking the mare through her paces in the ring while Theo mounted. Circle life hadn't afforded much opportunity to ride, and in the few years that she'd been home she'd spent what moments she could on horseback. "Magic makes the horses nervous," the Circle's stablemaster told her one of her first days there. Desperate for some reminder of home, she'd wandered to the stables. The chestnut mare she'd been petting hadn't seemed nervous, but at nine years old and only just discovering her magic what would she know?

Theo joined her. Arion stood patiently while Theo adjusted his grip on the reins, and then they were off. A few patches of blue peeked out of the overcast sky. Only a light breeze rolling in from the ocean kept the humid air from feeling oppressive. "When did you learn to do accounting?" Theo asked after a bit.

She glanced over at him. "Is magic the only thing Dorian knows about?"

He stiffened in the saddle and Arion shook his head. "Can we please not make this about Dorian?"

She'd met her brother-in-law twice, only briefly, but long enough to know she envied the easy relationship he had with his magic. "I only ask because he's a mage. But he's also quite intelligent about a number of other things, yes?"

"The Tevinter Circles are different."

"But it's still a place of magical learning," she countered, nudging her horse, Dora, into a trot to keep up with the pace Theo was trying to set. "My point is they didn't just teach me magic and religion. A lot of magic requires careful and complex calculations. Herbalism for instance. Potions and tonics. And being that I was there for twenty-two years, I got used to learning and using all that I was taught when I was young."

"By the time I was out of Ostwick all the Circles were falling, if they hadn't already," Theo told her. "And the mages who were part of my closer network weren't typical Circle mages," he explained. "Dor… him least of all." He stared at the backs of Arion's ears the rest of the way into town.

They stabled their horses when they arrived at the entrance of the city; the stablehands recognized Maranda and took Dora's reins with a smile, while Theo handed off Arion. "You don't have to wait for me to get off work," Maranda said, pushing her sleeves up over her elbows. Ostwick's famed double walls trapped the heat and humidity, and blocked the sea breeze. "Though I don't know what your plans are at the Chantry. Do you mind if I stop by for a moment with you?" she asked suddenly. She had prayers to say and homages to make.

Theo finally did turn to glance at her, blinking his wide green eyes a couple of times in surprise. "Won't your boss be upset that you're late?"

"I'll blame it on you," she teased, but saw how uncomfortable he became. His shoulders stooped, his eyes dropped to the ground, and his gait quickened. "Theo, what- oh."

They were drawing a crowd of onlookers of various social standing. Everyone from merchants to laborers to the poor trickled out into the summer heat to see the Herald of Andraste. She wondered if he endured this every time he came to the Chantry, especially since he'd been going every day for nearly a fortnight.

"The Maker is with us! His Light shall be our banner, and we shall bear it through the gates of that city and deliver it to our brothers and sisters awaiting their freedom within those walls!" cried a Chanter as he appeared through the crowd. "At last, the Light shall shine upon all of creation, if we are only strong enough to carry it!" He held out a hand, directing Theo and Maranda toward the Chantry. He spouted verses as they went, his musical voice infusing the Chant with a hypnotic quality she hadn't thought possible. Maybe that's why Theo looked relieved to see him.

He led them inside. Maranda pulled on a thread of cooling magic; cheating, perhaps, but what was the use of being a mage if you couldn't do the little things to make yourself more comfortable? They headed for the memorials, the Chanter hanging back with his head bowed respectfully. When did Theo meet this guy? And when did Theo become interested in the Chant?

It didn't matter just now. She knelt before two polished plaques and glanced around. She called forth the tiniest wisp of flame to her fingertips and lit two candles. It only seemed appropriate that they be lit by magic. She came here often to pray for the repose of her uncles' souls. Other than the constant undercurrent of contrition, life in the Ostwick Circle hadn't been terrible; she knew she owed much of that to her two templar uncles Cadan and Declan.

"They died quickly." Theo sat next to her on the stone floor. "Everyone did. There was no suffering at least." He stared at the two plaques before lighting two candles of his own. "They believed in the Order and in the Chantry until the end." Maranda nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "They both kept trying to convince me that it was all for the best, and that the Maker could use me, and I just pouted and resented every moment of it."

"They always tried to convince me that it was for the best as well," Maranda said. "I didn't always believe them, but the way Uncle Declan would nod when he said it? He was so convinced that I tried to believe because of it." If the Conclave explosion had never happened, would she still be in the Circle? Would she still stay there for the sake of her uncles and her family's duty to the Maker? But even the templar order was falling apart by then.

"All things in this world are finite. What one man gains, another has lost." The voice was mournful and musical, but Theo scrambled to his feet as if he'd been scolded. Maranda looked over her shoulder at the Chanter standing in the doorway of the memorial.

"I'm going to… see if the Chant can bring me wisdom," Theo said. "I suppose I'll see you at home." He took off after the Chanter.

He was definitely up to something.

Maranda sighed and headed out into the muggy day. Whatever he was up to wasn't her business. How he dealt with his trauma was his business. She slipped into the apothecary and apologized for being late. Mistress Rosemary just waved it off. "We're not going out of business because you needed a few minutes at Chantry, dear," she said, glancing up from her shipment invoice and smiling.

"I know, but I try not to take advantage of your understanding," Maranda countered. "Did you need me to catalog this shipment? Also, I think I found a closer blood lotus supplier."

Rosemary shook her head. "No thank you to the first, and I'll take that name when you have a moment. I think if you just reconcile the books after these last few shipments I'll be in tip top shape." She smiled and Maranda headed for the back room where the ledgers were kept.

She'd gone from merely tracking the accounts to occasionally assisting Rosemary with the business of supplies and even tweaking some recipes for maximum effectiveness. It was nice to put that aspect of her Circle training to work. Other than keeping herself warm in the winter and cool in the summer, though, Maranda refrained from using her magic.

Mage rights continued to improve under Divine Victoria; and the College of Enchanters was made consistent, spirited efforts to be a recourse for mage training. In spite of those new improvements old superstitions still prevailed, especially in the Free Marches. No Marcher would _ever_ forget that a _mage_ had destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and plunged the world into chaos. Sometimes she wondered what Tevinter would be like: not only would people not be afraid of her being a mage, but they'd be mystified by her _not_ using her magic.

She hummed to herself as she calculated. She enjoyed working with numbers; they worked or they didn't, and if they didn't, it was usually easy to trace why. So unlike words, which could be misinterpreted; or people, who worked and didn't work at the same time. At last she closed the ledger and capped her inkwell. She bid Rosemary a good evening before heading to the stables.

"I'm back for the gray mare," she told the stablehand, craning her neck around to see down the line of stalls. Dora caught sight of her and whickered, and so did the chestnut next to her. _Arion_? What was Theo still doing in town? "Hold that for a few minutes-I forgot something," she called, and started back toward the Chantry.

Curiosity nibbled at her. She nodded to the lay sisters dusting the pews and polishing the candlesticks and looked around. She always felt just a little uncomfortable in a Chantry, but still kept her head high. She belonged here as much as anyone else. She was no maleficar, no abomination waiting to happen. She'd been apostate for four years and had turned… well, she'd turned into an accountant. Terrifying, truly.

She saw no sign of Theo in any of the pews or even the more secluded alcoves. She glanced down one short hallway and saw only closed doors. Maybe he'd just gone to a tavern to drink away his troubles. She knew of a fair few people who went that route when the Circle fell. She headed back toward the sanctuary, but paused. She'd nearly missed the door, so dark and nondescript it blended into the shadows. She turned the knob and it opened. She poked her head down into a dim, narrow stairwell.

Muffled sounds of fighting: grunts, swears, and a crash as someone fell into a pile of crates. She recognized Theo's voice as he swore. She all but jumped down the rest of the stairs and saw a lithe, dark-haired man bearing down on Theo with a knife. She pushed her hands out toward him, condensing her mana into an amorphous fist that slammed into the man, shoving him up against a wall. "What do you think you're doing?" she screamed.

"Maranda, don't!" Theo said, struggling to his feet. Sweat drizzled down his bare torso. A light cut slashed across his right shoulder. He had to drop his own knife to push his sweaty hair out of his face, breathing heavily.

She didn't release her spell just yet, holding the other man against the wall. "One of your friends?" She eyed his knives, then Theo and his knife on the floor by his feet. "He was trying to kill you, right?" She got a closer look at the other man. His dark hair, those dark eyes… "When did Chanters start masquerading as assassins?"

"He's not an assassin. Wait, he is. But he's not here to kill me. His name is Cardenio." Theo bit his lip. "He's training me." Maranda released her spell and Cardenio sat up. "What are you even doing here? I told you I'd meet you at home!"

"You left your horse behind so I came to look for you. I didn't realize 'seeking the Maker's guidance' meant fighting in the Chantry basement," she snapped. She shook her hands out, willing the buzzing tingle of mana to subside. "Andraste's arse Theo, if Mum and Father found out-"

"One, they're not going to." Theo met her eyes, and he spoke with authority. It was so easy to forget that he'd been the Inquisitor, especially at times like this. "Two, I'm an adult. Three, if you'd seen a quarter of the shit I did you'd know why I have to figure out how to defend myself and fight again." He grabbed a water skin and tossed it to Cardenio, who caught it even though his eyes were still trained on Maranda, watching her with an analytical look she didn't care for. Theo took his own skin and drank deeply, then drizzled some over his face. "It didn't end with the Qunari," he said at last.

Maranda nudged him with a faint chilling spell; he was still sweating and his cheeks were flushed. She glared at Cardenio, but he just smiled and drank. Where did Theo find these people? But still, this was the first Theo had said to _anyone_ about what finally broke him, so she did her best to ignore Cardenio.

"I wanted it all to be over, but the longer I'm at home, the more I realize it isn't." He fussed with his pull-on shirt, waving away Cardenio's offer of assistance.

"So what is this all about then?" she asked.

"Kind of hard to shoot a bow with one arm." Theo tugged the laces of his shirt. "Knives though? It's tough, but I'm learning. I like having something to do again."

"Even if it does mean getting your one-armed ass kicked on a regular basis," Cardenio piped up with a grin. He got to his feet. "In all seriousness you show improvement." He pulled his Chanter's robes back on. "Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker," he recited with a grin.

"Fuck you too," Theo said as Cardenio left them. He looked away from Maranda and busied himself holstering his knife. He left his shirt untucked and baggy over his breeches; the knife holster was barely noticeable if you didn't look for it, and who would look for such a weapon on the Herald of Andraste anyway? He adjusted his boots and she caught a glimpse of another small holster. She sighed and zapped him with a weak bolt of lightning. "What was that for?" he snapped.

"For swearing in the Chantry. For being a complete pratt. For letting me think someone was trying to kill you!" She stormed toward the stairwell.

"It's not something I intended for you to find out this way… or at all," he confessed, following her. He waited until they were on their horses and headed back home before speaking of it again. He cleared his throat and she glared at him. "So… how attached are you to your job?"

"What?"

"I was thinking I'd make it up to you by asking if you wanted to go to Kirkwall with me."

Something inside of her jumped at the thought, even though she tried to tell herself she was still angry with her brother. "There's a catch," she told him. There had to be. He'd been a politician for the last few years. He'd learned how to bargain.

He sighed, caught. "Fine, Varric asked me to visit. It sure as shit isn't a pilgrimage." He snorted. "I'd also like to try to avoid running into the Prince of Starkhaven if at all possible," he added with a grimace. "But I know you want to go, and, well…"

She finally laughed. "Our parents won't let you go alone, no matter how much of an adult you are."

He visibly relaxed in the saddle. "Exactly. I know why they want to hold onto me, but I'm just not the son they remember." All Maranda had to do was look into his eyes to know the truth of that. The last time she'd seen him before his return home had been his wedding day. His eyes had sparkled, he'd smiled and laughed. Now he was hollow and haunted, and it was more than just whatever had happened between him and Dorian. "The thing is I just can't _not_ fight anymore. I tried so many times, and I'm just meant to keep going I guess." He sounded defeated and resigned.

"I'll go," she told him just as the view of the manor home became visible from horseback. "I always did want to see the world."


	5. Magister Business

Dorian lived in luxurious Senate apartments that even rivaled his parents' estate in Qarinus. The upper city in Minrathous was well-removed from the dusty, poverty-stricken streets that deteriorated the closer one got to the docks. Up here he easily forgot about the state of the city and of the Imperium as a whole. Here, alone, Dorian remembered that he hadn't always needed marble floors and silken sheets; once he could sleep on any surface with any covering and be content and comfortable so long as Theodane Trevelyan was in his arms.

This apartment held none of the primitive charm of camp tents, or the staunch austerity of Skyhold. Dorian could never imagine his father in any of those places; but here he clearly envisioned his father going about his business in luxurious ease. Halward had written letters at this desk; had read correspondence in this overstuffed chair; had entertained and brokered deals and shared drinks in this sitting room. The whole apartment reminded him of Halward, even in décor.

Dorian could easily have it redecorated. However, beside the gold and emerald amulet he wore, this apartment was all Dorian had left of his father. To wipe out this memory felt wrong. Their relationship had always fallen far below the ideal. The last time Dorian had seen him, Halward hinted that he may wish to reconcile; but Dorian kept him at arm's' length and avoided him as much as he could. Reconciliation required vulnerability. Dorian had no desire to let his guard down around his father ever again.

If he'd known that would be the last time he'd ever see his father, standing on the sidewalk asking him to go to dinner...

Dorian poured himself an aged Antivan brandy. His father never spared any expense when it came to drink, one thing about Halward that Dorian could appreciate. He locked the doors and set several fire glyphs on the door and window frames. He cast his silencing wards and sipped at the smooth, warm amber drink. He sat in his father's overstuffed chair with the cushions covered in fine gold and green silk brocade. It was quiet in here, up away from the city streets. He could hire a musician to play for him, but he really wanted someone to _talk_ with.

He missed that most of all. He took out the pale blue, hexagonal crystal that he always kept in the pocket of his robes closest to his heart. He closed his eyes and sent a small thread of mana into it. He clutched the crystal in his palm and listened.

He always hoped to hear something, anything. Sometimes he heard thumps and bumps and muffled whispers. His voice stuck in his throat. How could they even begin to bridge the chasm between them? Every night, as often as he could, Dorian charged the crystal and just listened for any sign that there was someone on the other end.

The brandy glass slipped from his fingers and smashed on the floor. He jumped up, casting a barrier around himself and calling a lightning bolt to his fingertips. He spun around, disoriented, heart racing. He checked his his wards: intact, but he still checked his rooms. At last he sighed and slipped the gem into the tiny leather pouch that he wore around his neck on a worn leather string while he slept. He took a couple more swigs of brandy and then, still fully clothed, he fell into bed and drifted into a restless sleep.

* * *

It was still some days before the next meeting of the Magisterium, and at least a fortnight until the whole Senate met; but there was never any rest for the weary. Dorian dragged himself out into the humid Minrathous morning, squinting in the bright sun. The second brandy was not a _good_ idea, but the third, swigged directly from the decanter, was a decidedly bad one.

Luckily, Maevaris knew how to take care of her people. "You look like dracolisk dung," she said, handing him a steaming cup of black coffee. She pointed to a table with a fruit platter and some freshly baked scones. "Eat. We all need our strength today."

"Another taxation vote?" Dorian asked. His head hurt. The coffee only helped so much.

"We can only stave it off for so long," Mae said. She filled her plate with a pile of firm red grapes and a small wedge of cheese and took a seat with the other core members of the Lucerni party. "But if we're going to block it, we need a strategy that doesn't include avoiding it forever."

"What _is_ the situation on Seheron anyway?" Lucrezia Aureos asked. "I feel like we don't ever hear anything definitive. Like the military finance committee finds reasons to keep us in the dark."

"Military finance. That's Augustus Virnius," Marcus Philius said, sorting through a pile of papers in front of him. "After the Qunari nearly invaded the south not long ago they've realized we're unprepared. The more we can do to secure Seheron, the better chance we have of staving off those oxes."

"Funding the army creates the illusion of security." Dorian rubbed his eyes. "Even if we don't know where the money is going." Some days it seemed that being a Magister entailed little more than following money trails. He'd come back to redeem the Imperium; he sat in meetings and pored over paperwork. "We need someone who can tell us what's going on up there."

While everyone agreed on that, no one had any leads on how to make that a reality. "I've managed to schedule a meeting with Carduelis in the Publicanium," Maevaris announced. "He may be able to help us get an in with the army, and see what their financial situation is on the front lines."

"But can we convince the rest of Magisterium to halt the tax increase, that's the real question." Lucrezia brushed the crumbs off the table. When she looked up her cheeks were red. Her breathing shuddered a bit. "My brother is talking about enlisting, so he can send us his commission."

If Lucrezia's family felt the brunt of the increased taxes, Dorian could only imagine how badly the rest of the Imperium fared; or, the rest of the Imperium that didn't have direct ties to the Magisterium.

Historically, Magisters had always held the most power in Tevinter. The Publicanium was a formality, mostly; but from what Mae had told him when he was sworn in, even the little power they held was waning fast and their numbers thinned as some struggled to pay to keep their seats. The Magisters would soon be the _only_ power in Tevinter if the Lucerni couldn't keep pace.

Their meeting adjourned an hour later. Mae headed further down in the city to see Atticus Carduelis, leaving Dorian with Marcus and Lucrezia. "My family's predicament isn't uncommon," she told him after they bid farewell to Marcus. "I heard of a wine merchant family that sent their sons to the army and never received the commissions. They also never heard from their sons again. They lost their shop when they couldn't keep up with the rent."

"Not a word of their sons?" Dorian asked, and Lucrezia shook her head. "Not even a notice of condolence?"

"It's as if they disappeared into thin air," she said. "My father also told me about other merchants, not quite so well off as our family, considering selling their shops just to survive. The wine merchant on the corner from my parents' shop signed with another Magister to rent out the shop. Less taxes."

Dorian nodded slowly. Soporati families commonly indentured themselves to wealthy Laetan or Altus families when the price of freedom grew too high. Poorer Laetans often applied as pages or secretaries to Altus families and Magisters. The Iron Bull's lieutenant, Krem, had been the son of tailors who'd sold themselves into slavery. It was easier to live as a slave than to live in poverty, scraping by on the lowest streets of Minrathous with the elves, lepers, and beggars.

"Your family bred a mage; they should be spared this hardship." Dorian rested a hand on her forearm.

" _We_ both know that." She held one hand before her face. Ice crystals formed around her fingers and she smiled. "But it is not so easy in practice. My being a mage does not pay their taxes. And with raised taxes all the way around, less people can afford their product, so less money comes in that way."

Dorian had been been raised in one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Tevinter. Money had never been an object. Now he understood why; the Magisterium did only what benefitted their own. That meant money; that also meant slaves. Higher taxes that people could not afford, meant more slaves. More slaves meant more power to the wealthy mages and Magister families, and slaves were less than people. They were possessions.

Now families like Lucrezia's were suffering. What did the wealthiest in Tevinter stand to gain by enslaving everyone else? They would bask in their money as the Imperium came crashing down around them, crushed by the weight of its own decadence.

Dorian just had to follow the money. Find where it went and divert it. What he wouldn't have given to still have access to Theo's extensive resources...

Later that afternoon Maevaris stopped by his apartment. She clenched her hands at her sides and while she tried to smile, her lips couldn't hold it for very long. She looked around his sitting room, as if she expected visitors. "It's rare for you to look less than stellar." When she didn't respond, he cast his privacy webs and set a few extra traps for good measure.

Only then did Mae stop quivering. "Your sending crystal. Does it work?"

Dorian's didn't intend for his laugh to sound quite so harsh. "I wouldn't know." He pulled the crystal out and watched the lazy pearly swirls beneath its surface. "There's this catch with it, you see. Both parties have to be on speaking terms if it's to work." The day had been too long, and ending it on this note frayed his nerves. "What did Carduelis tell you? What would it have to do with my ability to communicate with… anyone outside of Tevinter?"

"He has reason to believe that a new strain of lyrium came in, and it's being mined by Tevinter soldiers. He's scared, Dorian."

"They found a lyrium mine on Seheron?"

She shook her head. "No. Not all of the newly enlisted soldiers are making it to Seheron. He's not sure where, but it's outside of the Imperium. I've contacted Varric. If you can contact the Inquisitor…"

Dorian sighed. "He gave that role up. Incidentally, he also seems to have given me up," he added.

Mae's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Dorian. Maybe it's… Or you just need to…"

For one of the first times ever she looked lost and uncertain. "It's not your fault. It may even be mine, but let's keep that between us?" He asked. She gave a hint of a smile and nodded once. "I'll see what I can find out. It may not be much, but I'll try."

With that promise she left Dorian alone with his wards and traps, his sending crystal, and his regrets. He took a deep breath, squeezed the crystal in his hand and then let it fall into his lap.


	6. Kicking a Man When He's Down

Alick and Cordelia didn't take it well at all, but in the end they could do little to keep their two stubborn children from heading to Kirkwall. Theo didn't fight for it, but he also made it clear that he would be going. "Don't worry, I have Maranda with me," he said with a smile.

"I'll protect him." She grinned as lightning sizzled along her fingertips.

What neither of them told their parents was that the new Chanter had been suddenly reassigned to Kirkwall just in time to accompany them. Theo knew Maranda still didn't trust Cardenio and he didn't blame her. He didn't know what information Cardenio knew and how he'd come by it, though he suspected Leliana could be involved.

The real mystery, and the one thing that raised suspicious: when Cardenio insisted he bring his bow.

The bow had been an extension of his arms. Theo felt a peaceful focus whenever he nocked an arrow, even in the thick of fighting. These days he was learning to hold his own in a close fight, just a matter of repurposing his skills. Cardenio taught him how to use the shadows to his advantage in close combat, and how to compensate for the fact he only had one hand. According to Cardenio, what most saw as a liability, Theo could turn into an asset.

Fighting gave him something to focus on other than missing Dorian. He'd started letters, only to crumple them and throw them in the fireplace. He'd stared at the sending crystal, wishing for it to activate; and the times that it did left him in terrified silence. He had so much to apologize for that didn't know where to start. It was easier to say nothing at all.

For three years, even in the face of death he and Dorian had refused to say goodbye to one another, and in one moment of hurt and uncertainty Theo had not only let Dorian leave, but had made it final.

 _"I'm not saying goodbye," Dorian said hopefully, tears in his grey eyes._

 _Theo's ribs felt too tight. Phantom pain twinged in his nonexistent hand. He looked around and saw his (useless) bow and arrows. He'd just dissolved the Inquisition officially. And now Dorian held him a crystal dangling on a chain. Theo took the crystal and looked at it. Dorian wasn't saying goodbye?_

 _"I am," Theo said. He retreated to the bathroom before Dorian could see him lose it. Everything gone, overnight._

He was angry with Dorian for leaving; but angrier with himself for being such an ass about the whole thing.

Would Dorian even take him back?

The thought kept Theo up at night even on the road to Kirkwall, staring at the ceiling in the small roadside inn a day out of Ostwick. He lost himself in the thought, which got him thrown off his horse when he was more focused on his wedding ring than what had spooked Arion. It was easier to tell his family Dorian was too busy as a new Magister than to tell them the truth: he'd pushed Dorian away with his own pride.

The weather held out, allowing Theo, Maranda, and Cardenio to make good time to Kirkwall. The last time Theo had been this way, the trip felt interminable: every night the whole retinue had to stop early for prayers and sermons before dinner. The routine made travel painfully slow and took any joy out of the road trip. This time they stayed in inns, and even taking their time they were doing well.

Arion stopped in the middle of the road. Theo shook his head and emerged from the fog of thought and prodded his horse with his heels, but Arion refused to move. The bushes at the roadside rustled and four men dressed in dark colors stepped out. "Lookit here," one said with a grin that revealed a missing tooth. "What do you call a one-armed man, a pretty lady, and a Chanter on the road at this hour?"

"Fresh meat," another said, and they guffawed with laughter.

"If you want coin I can do that," Theo said evenly. He'd negotiated this sort of thing before. Of course, it rarely worked, but at least this gave him a moment to assess the situation. The four men were big and burly, but Cardenio would be fast with his blades. Maranda had reined in Dora, but she tucked a hand against her torso, cradling a tiny ball of lightning.

"Coin will be nice. And that fancy cloak pin you're wearing, wouldn't mind that," the third man said. "And the necklace."

"No," Theo told him. He sat deep in the saddle to balance himself; his hand shook with anger. Both the pin and the sending crystal necklace were gifts from Dorian, and he would not give those up.

"And that pretty bow. What's a one-armed bastard like you doing with such a nice piece of equipment?" the second man asked.

The bandits were on foot. They were on horseback. Theo tried to catch Maranda's eye, but too late: one bandit dropped a smoke bomb. The horses started; Arion spooked and reared up. Theo leaned forward into his horse's neck but he crashed to the sun-baked road- far less forgiving than the muddy yard. He reached for his knife, but one of the bandits kicked him in the side. His eyes watered and his throat burned from the smoke. His first actual fight, and he was getting his ass thoroughly kicked.

Lightning crackled through the choking smoke and a bandit shrieked. Another made a gurgling sound and blood spattered the road. One man planted a boot on Theo's chest, driving the air from his lungs as he bent down and yanked the sending crystal off of his neck. He ripped Theo's light cloak when he went for the brooch. And then he laughed and kicked his left elbow.

The pain shouldn't have shot down to his very fingers, but it did and that made it even worse because he had no fingers to feel the pain. Theo gritted his teeth together and tried to get to his feet to stagger after the man.

He heard the scream before the smoke cleared. He squinted through the haze and saw a hulking shape holding onto the remaining bandit. "I respect you needing to make a living," the Iron Bull said in an easy, conversational voice. "Times are tough for some. You gotta do what you need to survive, so long as you can fall asleep at night, right?"

"I sleep fine you fucking ox," the man snapped as he yanked his left hand out of the Qunari's huge fist, clenched around it, to no avail.

He sighed. "It's _Bull. The_ Iron Bull. And you didn't let me finish. What I can't respect is you kicking a man while he's down." He squeezed his fist and the man screamed. "Hand over the shinies." The man shook his head and Bull squeezed harder. Theo heard the crunch from where he knelt in the dust. At last the two jewels dropped from his other hand and he collapsed, clutching his crushed hand. "It's just dislocated," Bull told him. "Painful, but you can get back to petty theft in a few weeks, where you'll just run into me or my boys again and next time we'll break your entire arm."

The man shook his head and threw Theo a baleful glare before he scuttled away- right into Cardenio, who had been holding out his knife. Cardenio shrugged, wide eyes innocent. "He ran into my knife," he explained, kicking the final thief to the ground and wiping blood off his blade.

"Look at you, saving my ass yet again." Theo got to his feet, the irony and awkwardness not lost on him; it had been Bull who'd chopped off his arm. He knew, logically, that Bull was just doing what he needed to to save him, but every time he thought he'd sorted his emotions out, new ones tangled up inside of him.

"I was aiming for saving the girl, but you'll do." Bull grinned, his one eye fixed on Maranda. She'd dismounted and held Dora's reins tightly. "Unless your sister's off limits?"

"Take it up with her. She could probably kick your ass. She kicked his," he said with a nod to Cardenio, who was wiping blood off of his knife. "This is-"

"Cardenio, you chanting bastard," Bull said. "I thought you were supposed to be toughening him up."

"With a few more months, maybe. Still, he's doing well."

"Wait, you _know_ each other?" Theo held up his hand. "Of course you do. I don't even want to know." He took the sending crystal and the brooch back from Bull. The chain was broken, so he shoved it into a deep pocket. His cloak was torn, so the brooch joined the crystal in his pocket. He'd have to get everything repaired in Kirkwall.

Bull whistled and the rest of the Chargers emerged from the woods. Most of them also already knew Cardenio, and Theo made a note to have some strong words with Leliana in the near future-assuming he could figure out where she was at these days. Krem, Bull's lieutenant clapped Theo hard on the right shoulder. "Good to see you again, Boss."

"Not sure I'm the boss anymore." Theo checked his unused knives before clucking to Arion. His horse ambled over. "But it's still good to see you. You didn't just conveniently appear when we were most in need though," he pointed out. He put his foot in the stirrup and gripped the saddle at what would have been an otherwise awkward angle. A lifetime of drawing a heavy bow had resulted in good upper body strength. He took a deep breath and launched himself up into the saddle.

"We were a day behind you out of Ostwick. We thought we could make it from the Storm Coast in time to meet you before you left, but at least we were able to catch up with you in the nick of time," Krem said. A wagon drawn by two draft horses rolled into view and he vaulted into it. Bull walked alongside and they kept a slow pace. Even though Theo knew Cardenio was deadly with his blades, he'd fought alongside the Iron Bull and Krem and he trusted them with his life. And… it _was_ good to see them again.

"What were you doing on the Storm Coast?" Theo's stomach twisted a bit. The Storm Coast held many uncomfortable memories.

"Doing some digging for Varric."

The pieces began to come together. "Of course. Varric gets me to Kirkwall, you and Bull and the Chargers meet up with me…" He sighed. "It's not in me to stay out of things, at least not completely, but I really meant it when I said I was through saving the world."

"Sure you did," Bull called. "Just like Nightingale meant it when she said she was going to retire to an estate in Orlais and breed nugs."

At least that cleared up what Leliana was doing with herself. But Bull had a point that Theo couldn't argue, so he just spurred Arion into a trot and set a quicker pace along the road.

"Old friends bringing back some memories?" Maranda asked, trotting Dora up beside him.

Theo nodded. "Something like that."

She glanced back. "They're up to something."

"That's how the Chargers are," Theo told her, unable to mask a smile. "They're going to rope me into whatever is going on."

"You _can_ say no," Maranda told him. "But you won't," she guessed, and his thoughtful silence was confirmation enough.

* * *

Varric had only wanted to use his influence, courtesy of the Inquisition, to start improving Kirkwall. The nobles took that to mean he wanted to be in charge, so he'd been elected Viscount. _No good deed goes unpunished, especially for the Inquisition,_ Theo thought as they rode into the city a day and a half later. The city looked cleaner and brighter than Theo remembered from a few years back. He knew how much Varric loved Kirkwall, so at least it was improving.

Varric's Seneschal, Bran Cavan, met them at the stables. "The Viscount is in a meeting at this time, but he asked me to come greet you on his behalf," he said, barely hiding a yawn. His bored gaze swept over Theo and Maranda. "Lord and Lady Trevelyan, I gather."

"Just Theo, please," he said at the same time his sister broke in with, "Maranda." They glanced at one another. "Grew up in the Circle," she reminded him. "I wasn't ever a lady."

Bran shrugged. "It's all the same to me, really." Theo believed him. "Chanter, someone will guide you to the Chantry." Cardenio bowed his head, and Theo wondered just how that charade would play out- or which identity was the true charade. "Lieutenant Aclassi-"

"Krem. We'll be at the Hanged Man in the usual place," Krem said with a grin. "I'm guessing his Importance will send for us when we're needed." Krem headed off to join the other Chargers.

Theo and Maranda followed the seneschal through the streets of Kirkwall. The sun bore down overhead and a few gulls soared in the cloudless sky. Both were dusty from traveling, and Theo really would have preferred a meal, a wash, and a rest first. He told himself it was because he was tired from traveling, that it had nothing to do with meeting up with Bull again, and from being marched toward Varric's offices in the Viscount's Keep. He swallowed against his stomach trying to crawl up his throat.

It was cooler in the Keep, though tall windows still let sunlight in and warmed the stone floors where it hit. Bran led them up several staircases and finally rapped on Varric's door. "Your guests from Ostwick." He stepped back to let Varric's first appointment out before Theo and Maranda could go in.

Varric's guest was average height with a slim build, and moved lightly on her feet. The Queen of Ferelden didn't wear a gown, or even a circlet to show her station, but Theo recognized her nonetheless from the paintings he'd seen in Ferelden. Their eyes met for one moment. Her skin was pale and her face shadowed and tired-looking, but her eyes widened when she saw him. Before he knew if he was supposed to bow or offer his fealty or whatnot, Queen Fianna Cousland-Theirin had brushed past him, bounded down the stairs, and out of sight.

"Really, Varric? You know how Ferelden feels about me," Theo said by way of greeting.

Varric broke into a smile and hopped out of his overstuffed leather chair. "Fletch! Good to see you again! This must be your sister. The resemblance is uncanny." Varric turned to Maranda and bowed. "Milady, may I welcome you to Kirkwall?" He stared up at her and took her hand before brushing his lips over her knuckles. Maranda blushed. "And you." He spread his arms out and took in Theo. "If you _weren't_ unkempt I probably wouldn't recognize you. Have a seat."

Theo sat down, scratching his beard and tucking his hair behind his ears. Varric's relatively spacious office had scrolls, sheets of paper, and ledger books open and spread over every surface. Just now he had a map open on his desk. It was upside down from Theo's perspective, but he recognized the northern Ferelden coastline. Another map off to the side looked like a maze.

"First off," Varric said, sitting down and putting his feet up on the desk, bootheels digging into the Waking Sea, "Fianna is here not as the Queen of Ferelden, but as a Grey Warden."

"Doesn't make her not-the-Queen-of-Ferelden," Theo pointed out. "Because Arl Teagan needs more reasons to come after my head again?"

Varric waved a hand. "I'll let her explain later. Second, how much contact have you had with Sparkler recently?" Theo clenched his jaw and looked away from Varric, over his shoulder and out the window. He caught the barest glimpse of ocean from here. The crystal felt heavy in his pocket. By the time he'd left his suite at the Winter Palace most everyone had headed out. He was left with the broken pieces of what he'd built, both with the Inquisition and with Dorian.

"Some," he finally said.

"You're a lousy liar, Fletch," Varric said. He folded his hands and rested them on his stomach. Theo chewed on his bottom lip. Varic watched him. "No, he hasn't contacted me. But my cousin's wife Maevaris has, and she's given me some insight about what they're up against." Theo looked down at his hand and fiddled with a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. "She had me look into something a few weeks back, and depending on what Tiny and his crew found, we may need to take a trip."

"I'm done saving the world, Varric. I can give you what information I have if it's going to help you."

"No one's asking you to save the world," Varric told him. "But I think Sparkler could use your help."

Theo narrowed his eyes. "Kicking a man when he's down? I didn't think that was your style. You don't know what happened between us." Next to him Maranda slouched back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Varric swung his legs around and leaned forward against his desk. He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a key. "You're right, I don't. Here. Why not go and get settled, and then we'll have dinner over at the Hanged Man. I'll even show you around; you'll be amazed how the city's changed." Theo wished he wouldn't be so calm and accepting; it meant Varric was up to something. Everyone was, and all he wanted was to be done with it.

Or so he told himself.

* * *

Varric had procured for them a cozy but elegant townhouse that overlooked the ocean. Maranda opened the balcony doors and relaxed on the chaise in the hot sun as soon as Varric and Bran left. It felt good to finally sit down somewhere other than a saddle. She'd pulled a book off of the stocked bookshelves: _All This Shit Is Weird: A Memoir_ by Varric Tethras. "So how true is this?" she asked Theo when she saw him eyeing the book.

"If you want a highly sensationalized account of some of the stuff I did, you can read this." He joined her out on the balcony. "The reality is…"

"It took a lot from you," she observed when his voice trailed off and his eyes stared at things only he could. "Beyond the obvious." Theo leaned on the railing, looking down to the ocean. He'd had a quick wash and changed into clean clothes. He held his necklace, the one with the strange crystal on the now-broken chain, in his hand. He never talked about what it was, but she could feel the magic in it.

Theo shrugged. "I mean, there _was_ some weird shit… this one time a guy catapulted a goat into the walls. And ask Krem about the flying nug episode." He turned his hand over; the crystal rested in his palm and caught the sunlight. "Can I ask you something? It's kind of personal."

She shifted so she could see him better. "I _am_ your older sister, even if we didn't know each other for most of your life." He rolled his eyes. "Fine, yes, you can ask."

"Have you ever _really_ fucked up?" He chewed at his lower lip while angling the crystal to catch the sun in its facets. "Not just messed up, but something you can't come back from. And you're not an abomination, so clearly I don't mean just mage things."

Maranda's fingers tingled. The sky was clear, but there was a line of dark clouds far out on the horizon. "My Circle stayed as neutral as they could, for as long as they could. Then the war came to us." She was content to leave it at that. Her parents had never asked why her clothes were stained with blood when she showed up that night. But Theo watched her with his haunted eyes. She supposed that his missing arm was just the only visible sign of the awful things he'd seen

"His name was James," she told him. She sat up straighter and hugged her knees to her chest in spite of the heat. It had been a winter day, she remembered that. It was only warm because the rebels had set fire to the buildings. She didn't burn because she'd managed to keep her barrier strong enough to withstand the flames. "He was right behind me and someone came up behind _him_ and hit him with a spell. I just kept going. Never looked back." She took in a shuddering breath. "It wasn't like in the books, either. He didn't bravely tell me to run and live my life or to avenge him. I kept moving and he died."

"I'm sorry."

"You _did_ ask," she pointed out. She didn't care to keep remembering this; it haunted her enough in her dreams. "You want my opinion?"

He shrugged. "You _are_ my big sister."

"You fucked up, but you can come back from this. You're both alive. You have a way to contact each other, but you just have to stop being such a stubborn ass. I saw the way you looked at each other. What you have with Dorian? It's worth more than your stupid pride will ever be." She'd have given anything to have James back, if just long enough to apologize.

He managed a smile. "I know. I'm just afraid now. What if he-" They heard a clatter from inside the house. "Andraste's tits, what now?" he muttered, heading in.

Maranda followed, but only as far as the doorway. Cardenio had let himself in, something she wasn't too keen on; Theo assured her the Chanter-assassin was trustworthy, but his impish grin made her wary. With Cardenio was a slim, blonde elf who'd cut her own hair while drunk. That was the only explanation Maranda could come up with.

"This him, then?" The elf leaned forward and peered up at Theo. Her hazel eyes inspected him critically, then her face broke into a wide grin, revealing a couple crooked teeth. "This is going to be fun, yeah," she said. "Where's your bow at?"

Theo glanced between the elf and Cardenio, who held his hands out in front of him. "Don't look at me, I just Chant."

The elf snorted. "Load of shite-bollocks, that is. Just Chant my arse. So where's your bow?"

"It's over… I don't even know you," Theo said suddenly.

"Viscount Varric, he's got nicknames, yeah? And they all mean something. He doesn't give you a nickname unless it fits. He calls you Fletch. Like arrows. He wouldn't call you that if you didn't have a bow, so I don't even have to know _you_ to know you shoot." Her explanation sounded perfectly reasonable. "Oh, and Denny here told me." She winked.

Theo fell back on a sofa. "The bow is over by the door," he said with a wave, hardly even looking to see where she was going.

Maranda sat next to him. "Is this some of that weird shit?"

Theo laughed. "No. This is relatively normal." Then he sighed. "Everyone is up to something. I'm sorry you got dragged along."

"Don't be." She dropped Varric's book next to him on the sofa. "Even if strange elves and assassin-Chanters is the craziest thing that happens here, it's still more interesting than Circle life. And accounting," she added as an afterthought.

"I'm involved. This won't be the craziest thing by far," he said, running his hand through his hair.

"Imma borrow this." The elven woman held his bow out before her. "Pretty thing, it is." Her eyes swept over him. "I'd keep it too."

"Hey, don't you-"

"I'm not making you take the piss." She rolled her eyes. "If I got my arm chopped off I'd keep a bow this pretty too. Just because you can't use it right doesn't mean it doesn't mean something, yeah? But I want to borrow it. You'll thank me." She turned toward the door and sauntered out, holding Theo's next-most prized possession.

He jumped out of his seat and ran after her, but Cardenio stepped in front of the door. "She took my bow. Let me through," Theo commanded.

"You can fight me for it," Cardenio offered. He slipped off his Chanter's robe, revealing the arsenal of blades strapped to his hips, back, and thighs. "Don't worry, I won't kill him," he told Maranda with a grin, remembering her force spell. "I can fight you too, if you want."

Maranda shook her head. "Maybe another time." She headed back out into the sun and settled back on the chaise. She sighed when she heard the clatter of blades coming from inside, and the occasional grunt or crash. This may have been Theo's normal, but it was far from average. The tingling in her hands reminded her of the incoming storm. Still, the sun was warm and she was tired.

 _You would have liked it here, James,_ she thought as the gulls called overhead. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes closed until she saw stars, but the heat and tears had abated. She took a deep breath, smelling the salt air and sun-baked stones and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

This time Varric himself came to the door to show Theo and his sister to the Hanged Man pub. Dusk had fallen, and streetlamps had been lit. Varric looked around as they walked, smiling and relaxed, taking pride in his city.

"Doesn't your seneschal worry about you walking around town like this?" Maranda asked, glancing about her. She'd been living outside a Circle long enough to feel more at ease in the world at large, but Kirkwall was… well, Kirkwall, after all.

Varric sniffed. "Bran keeps betting I'll get myself killed on any number of damned fool adventures I go on, and he's probably right. Aveline, my guard captain, she worries more than is good for her. I may be Viscount now, but I've been a Kirkwall fixture for my whole life, aside from the Inquisition years. Inquisition Years. That sounds like a good title for your memoir," he told Theo.

"I'm not writing a memoir."

"Of course you're not. The first thing I did when I came back though, was buy the Hanged Man." Varric stopped before a well-lit tavern surrounded by closed up shops. Across the street two cats fought over a rat that squealed indignantly. Maranda raised an eyebrow. "It's better on the inside," Varric said. "And I had Corff call in a better chef than him for the night," he added. "Only thing he knows how to make is stew. That's his word for throw everything into a pot and hope for the best." Varric chuckled.

"Sounds like what you used to make when it was your turn to cook while we were camping." Theo looked up at the sign: a man dangling upside down by his ankles. His elbow itched and his missing hand tingled slightly. He tried to shake it out and accidentally hit Varric in the back of the head.

They entered The Hanged Man and Varric steered them toward the back of the tavern and into a large private room. Several glasses, many empty, already littered the table. Bull had a row of shot glasses lined up in front of him and the Queen of Ferelden was just finishing a shot of her own, which she added to _her_ line. The other Chargers played at cards. At the other end of the table Dagna, the Inquisition Arcanist, leaned against the shoulder of the blonde elf with the bad haircut.

"Have a seat," Varric said with a bright smile, pulling up a chair to the head of the table and taking the ale mug someone handed him.

Theo looked around the room, at everyone carefully avoiding looking at him, at Varric leaning back so casually. "Going to tell me what's going on? Really?" he asked. "Fuck, just find me a Venatori and some red templars, and it'll be just like old times!"

"May as well tell him, Varric," Bull said. Someone handed the Queen of Ferelden another shot, which she put back while keeping a deathly serious look on her face. "Here Boss, you're going to need this." He gestured for Theo and Maranda to sit and handed him a full ale mug. From across the table, the queen's hazel eyes appraised him. Up this close, she didn't look particularly royal. Her auburn hair hung loose over her shoulders, a scar slashed under her right eye, and she wore simple, comfortable clothing: the better to fight in. She wore a pendant around her neck that seemed to absorb the light.

Theo took his drink and swigged it back. Not the worst he'd ever had, and definitely not strong enough for the things Bull and Varric started to tell him. He reached into his pocket and clutched the sending crystal to keep his hand from shaking. So I'm willing to finance this voyage, because it seems that's what I do," Varric said with a chuckle.

"What about everyone else?" Theo asked. "And what am I supposed to do? I'm borderline useless." He waved his stump at Varric.

"That's where I come in." Dagna sat up, eyes sparkling. "I've been working on a few things that I'll show you. And this is Sera," she said, indicating the elf. "She's..."

"Your archery teacher, yeah?" Sera said with another crooked grin. She dropped a full shot glass into her beer and chugged the concoction. "You've been out of practice for a bit, not really your fault, but Widdle here told me you'd probably need help so that's what's what and where I come in."

It was like being named the Inquisitor all over again, all these motley people looking to him and preparing him to be someone he wasn't. "And what about you?" He turned his eyes on the queen, because it was easier to put her on the spot than to think about everyone watching him and waiting. "Arl Teagan didn't have enough to blame me for a few months ago?"

The queen reached across the table and grabbed Bull's half-empty mug of ale. She tipped it back, drank down the contents, and handed it back to Bull. He just narrowed his eye at her. She finally turned her gaze on Theo. "Sorry about him. We weren't really happy with how he took things, but Alistair and I had things we were seeing to. As for why I'm here…" She brushed her fingertips over her pendant. "I'm your Deep Roads guide."

Theo had been to the Deep Roads once, briefly, and he had no desire to return. "I'm still not sure it's a great idea for me to go into the bloody Deep Roads with the Queen of Ferelden," he told her.

She shook her head. "It's Fianna, and I don't go as the queen. I go as a Grey Warden." She suddenly swept the row of shot glasses off the table. They smashed on the floor and crunched under her boots as she got up and stormed out of the room.

"Only good thing about her being a Warden is that I finally found someone who can keep pace with me," Bull finally said. He turned his one eye on Theo. "What Fianna didn't tell you is she's going as our guide because she got the Calling. She'll die if she has to, to make sure we're successful on this expedition."

"I still don't know why you need me."

"You're our link to Tevinter," Varric said. "Whatever you find down there, you need to let Mae… and yes, Sparkler, know."

"I need to go." Theo pushed back his chair and swept out of the Hanged Man and into the balmy Kirkwall night. He walked fast, heedless of his surroundings, until he found himself on the docks and could go no further.


	7. The Long Road

"Ta da!" Dagna's face beamed and her eyes sparkled as she looked between Theo and the thing on the table. "It's a prototype, but it's a start! Gimme your arm." Theo sat down and rested his elbow on the table while Dagna worked to fit the fake arm up against his scarred left elbow stump. "We worked off the measurements tailors had made," she said as she worked. "It may not be perfect-" she gritted her teeth and pulled at a strap that helped secure the prosthetic. "And I tried to design it so you can eventually do this yourself."

Theo grunted as she tugged and then she stood back, pleased with herself. Theo looked down and his breath caught in his throat. The emptiness had been replaced with a skeleton of lightweight metal that resembled an arm and a hand. Of course it didn't move like his arm had, but there was something there for the first time in months.

"Lift it up," Dagna ordered. Theo obeyed. It was all surprisingly light, and while he could only move it up in front of him or off to the side, it was more than he'd had. "Your turn," she said, turning to Sera.

Sera sat on the countertop in the kitchenette watching Dagna work. "Time for the best part." She hopped down. "Come on, Fletchy." Theo followed her, which was easier than to try and mentally follow what she was getting at most of the time. In the time he'd been in Kirkwall Sera had watched him with a strangely critical eye while he fought with Cardenio. She specialized in taunting him; it had been distracting until the day he realized that was exactly what she was trying to do.

She'd leaned her bow against the wall by the door when she'd come in, and he saw his there, too. He half expected it to have been destroyed, or at least painted pink (Sera also had a fondness for pranks), but the deep reddish wood was polished and she'd strung it as well. "Right, so Denny's good with the knives and all but you're not a knife guy. Knives are good when you get in close with some wanker or other, but you." She paused and leaned in, meeting his eyes. "You like distance. I can tell, I do too, yeah? So here's the best part. Hold up your arm."

Theo did as instructed. Sera positioned the grip against the palm of the false hand. Instantly the fingers and thumb locked around the grip, perfectly positioned. "I'm not giving you arrows yet, but at least draw," she ordered.

He held the bow out before him; the false arm was lightweight and the elbow had locked into place, allowing him to hold the bow out straight. The rest of his body settled into the familiar stance, back and shoulders straight and lined up with his hips. It was such a difference from the crouching movements Cardenio had been teaching him. That technique involved making himself as small as possible to reduce the target area. This…

Theo looked down the long, straight line of his arm- _his arm_. He inhaled and drew the string. Sera had strung it lighter than he usually drew, but for now that was fine. He hadn't thought he'd ever draw a bow again. "Feels good, yeah?" Sera asked with a crooked grin. "Oy, Widdle! Come over here and give it a looksee!"

Dagna came into the living room and clapped her hands. "It works!"

"You thought it wouldn't?" Theo asked, lowering the bow. It didn't fall from his hand. Useful… until he needed to drop it. "How…"

"Touch this." Dagna guided his fingers to a rune up close to his elbow. He touched it and the bow clattered to the floor. "Contact runes," she said proudly, holding up his bow. A rune had been etched into the grip, and she bent his forearm at the elbow joint and turned the hand to show the same rune on the palm. "The idea is to get all your main weapons enchanted with this rune so you can at least hold them. It won't be the same as a real arm, but you'll be able to defend yourself better."

"You try now," Sera ordered. Theo positioned his left hand over the grip, and the fingers curled around it. He couldn't help but smile. "We're heading off for target practice," Sera announced. She bent down and kissed the tip of Dagna's nose and squeezed her hand. "Let's go, yeah?"

Theo followed Sera out into the overcast day; the air smelled of impending rain. Sometimes Sera skipped a few paces, or looked up at the sky. "Rain'll be shite for target practice, so it better hold off," she muttered. "But there's you, now."

"Me?"

"Funny how you show up all mad and upset at everyone and their mother, but soon as you get an arm it's like we're all worthy of you being a decent sort again."

"Ever try to shoot a bow with one arm?" Theo asked. "You can't."

"Yeah, well, why take that out on us though? Half of us you don't even know. Well, it's me you don't know, and the Queenie Wardeny one… now she's got the right to be mad. She saves the world from those shite-eating darkspawn things and now she gets to go die? What shite is that?"

"Saving the world _is_ pretty thankless." They had reached a small field on the outskirts of the city. In the distance, the tops of the Vimmark Mountains were lost in the clouds. Somewhere out there lay the ancient Grey Warden prison that had failed to contain Corypheus. Everything that had made him had started here.

"You're not dead," Sera pointed out. "You could be. Fuckit, you probably _should_ be, but here you are still. You could do something. You could do anything. I mean you're doing something, you're wallowing, and that's no fun." She stuck her tongue out.

"Well what do _you_ do?" Theo countered. He followed her to the line and looked down range at the targets she'd set up. Most of them were straw dummies; some even had silver, Orlesian style masks and he wondered where she'd gotten those.

"Put self-absorbed twats in their place." Sera grinned. She lifted her own bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. She hardly looked at the targets, too busy grinning at Theo; but her arrow flew straight into the throat of one of the dummies. "Denny's one of us too."

"That… explains a lot," Theo conceded. He took an arrow and nocked it. While he could hold the bow steadily, he couldn't feel the arrow glide along his finger as he drew it back along the arrow rest. He drew back, feeling the tension in his back and shoulders. He took a deep breath, and on the exhale, released. The bowstring twanged against the metal. His aim was off and while his draw had been good, he realized he would need to compensate for not being able to feel anything below his elbow.

His shot flew past the target, only to be lost in the tall grass.

"The first shot is the hardest, yeah? It'll be better from now on, right?" Sera spent the next hour and a half working with him, helping him adjust his stance and posture to adjust for the weight of his prosthetic arm, and for the different draw weight of his bowstring. Eventually his left shoulder started burning with the effort of holding up his arm and his bow, and the fit of the prosthetic began to chafe. At least by the end he could hit a target; not very well, but it was a hit.

"I'm not a self-absorbed twat," he told her as they headed back to town. A droplet of rain splattered on his head. "I have a lot I'm processing."

"S'what they all say. Me, I say if you have to say it, then it's true." Sera looked up at the sky and shook her head as it began to sprinkle. "Varric, he likes you, and Dagna does too, and she's not even mad that I think your sister's a pretty one, so there's that," she said with a grin. "That stick up your arse though, that from being the high and mighty Inquisitor? Ever think that, now you're not him, you could take that out and be someone else?"

"I'm trying. It's not exactly a short road to follow," he told her. "I went from being no one, to being the Inquisitor, and now I'm not sure who to be. So much of my identity was tied up in being him."

"Well, what do you want? Don't think about why you can't have it because that's shit thinking, right? You wanted to shoot a bow again, and bang, you're shooting. So yeah, strange shite can happen. All this shit is weird, yeah? You're walking proof of weird shit happening."

The only thing he truly wanted was to have Dorian back again. Couples broke up and reunited all the time; surely that wasn't "weird shit". So why did it feel so difficult?

When he got back the townhouse was empty. Everyone had some sort of preparation for this Deep Roads expedition, and he supposed learning to fight, whether with knives or with his bow, was part of his role. Still… Varric had called him the link to Tevinter. Whatever was happening on the Storm Coast had the potential to hurt Dorian. That alone was reason enough to go. He couldn't stand the thought of Dorian hurting.

"Shit," he said aloud, standing in the middle of the sitting room. "I really _am_ a self-absorbed twat." He'd spend so much time thinking of how much he'd been hurting; how much of an ass he'd been and how scared he was. He'd been the one to turn his back on Dorian, when Dorian needed him most. And even if Dorian wouldn't take him back, Theo owed it to him to at least let him know that he knew how wrong he'd been. What Dorian decided to do after that was up to him, and Theo would not- _could not_ \- fault him for it.

He headed to his room and locked the door behind him. He was not leaving until he'd spoken to Dorian. He settled on his bed, sending crystal in hand. What did Dorian do during the days and nights now that he was a Magister? Meetings, parties… he imagined Dorian, _his_ Dorian, flitting through the crowds, flashing his dazzling smile; standing before a room full of politicians and wooing them with his warm voice.

It was hardly dusk. He'd be bothering him.

The sky grew darker. Theo heard voices outside his door. Someone knocked softly once, but he held his breath and kept himself still, like he used to when he was a child and didn't want to be found. The crystal weighed heavily in his sweaty hand.

Only when he started awake to moonlight and silence, crystal still in his hand, did he realize he couldn't put it off any longer. It didn't matter if Dorian would be mad at him for waking him up; it was just one more item on a well-deserved list. Theo rolled over on his side and opened his hand. The moonlight caught the facets of the crystal. He didn't know what to do with it, so he just clutched it and started talking.

"Dorian? Dor, are you there?"


	8. It's Complicated

A few faintly glowing embers turned the hearth orange with their light. Dorian shoved aside yet another of the old texts that he'd acquired from the great library at the Minrathous Circle earlier in the week. Again, nothing. While once the Tevinter Imperium had stretched as far east as Ferelden and as far south as the Korcari wilds, there was nothing that explained why slavers would have an interest in the Storm Coast. He yawned and pulled the next book from the pile and touched his fingers to the lamp wick. The lamp burned bright again, and he flipped open the cover, even though the title itself began blurring before his eyes.

 _"Dorian? Dor, are you there?"_

He sat up straighter, looking around. "Theodane?" he whispered. The lamp cast shadows around his apartment. No. Theo would not be here, in his quarters. It was asking too much.

Then he wanted to slap himself as he shoved back his chair and dashed into the bedroom. Sure enough the sending crystal pulsed with soft, pearly light. He zapped himself with a small bolt of lightning; it left him tingling and blinking and definitely awake, and the crystal was still there, still pulsing. He flung himself on the bed and grabbed it. "Theodane?... _Amatus?"_

Silence. He knew it had been too much to hope for. He sighed and rolled over on his back. The moonlight sliced through the windows and across the rumpled sheets. He really needed to get some rest.

"Did I wake you?"

Dorian stared at the crystal. "Are you really there?" he asked instead of answer the question. It had been months since Theo had said goodbye. He'd never stopped loving him, but had nearly given up hope of ever hearing from him again.

"I'm here." Theo tried to cover the crack in his voice with a laugh. "Three months too late, but I'm here. Andraste's arse, I'm so, so sorry, Dor. So sorry."

Dorian swallowed the painful lump lodged in his throat. "I should certainly hope you are," he finally managed.

"You have no idea," Theo told him. "And if you can't forgive me that's okay, I wouldn't forgive me either for being such a fuckwit. But just… just let me apologize before anything else."

Dorian closed his eyes and pretended they were not in their spacious bedroom in Skyhold, but the tiny, cobwebby library in the basement that had been their special place. The image of Theo, shoulders slumped and staring at the floor as he stammered and tripped over his apologies gave him a pang in his chest. "You were under quite a bit of pressure toward the end, love," he finally said. "I-"

Another hoarse chuckle. "Please, Dor. Don't make excuses for me. I've made more than enough over the last few months, and it's been completely unfair to you." He paused. Dorian heard him blow his nose. "You needed me. You needed me more than you ever had before, and I shut you out. I love you, and that was inexcusable. I… I hurt you. I betrayed you and hurt you in the worst way possible and I'm _so, so sorry_."

 _I'm not saying goodbye._

 _I am._

"That's exactly what you did," Dorian told him. It had hurt worse than any demon's claws or any mages's spell or warrior's sword. He'd spent the trip to Minrathous in a heady daze of grief over his dead father and his wrecked marriage. He'd hardly slept because of the way demons were drawn to his pain. The spirits of the Fade helped as they could, but some nights Dorian's anguish was too strong. "It _was_ rather unfair of you," Dorian finally conceded. He wiped his nose with a silk kerchief and rubbed the hot tears from his eyes. "I know you were hurt by-"

"Dor. No excuses for me, please. Anything that happened that day? You couldn't control it. I couldn't control anything but my reaction, and I reacted like a spectacular asshole. You deserved better, and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed it."

Dorian held the crystal to his lips as if he could kiss Theo through it. He loved hearing Theo's voice; but there was so much more to it all. Every time Dorian had been hurt by someone he trusted, it had been turned around back on him. Now, Theo refused to allow Dorian to make any concession, instead acknowledging how he'd hurt him. Dorian was raw. He was angry. He was… so grateful and so in love with Theo Trevelyan that he thought he might burst.

"Dor… I love you," Theo said again, softly. "I meant it when I said I always would. I was just so ashamed that I hurt you, and then I was so scared, and now I just need you to know that I love you and am here for you, the way you always were for me." He paused. "If you'll still have me."

Dorian ran his hand over his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. "You ask the stupidest questions sometimes, _Amatus,_ " he said at last.

" _Amatus,"_ Theo repeated, though his Tevene was terrible, and probably always would be. "Is it late? Can you talk?"

"It's well past midnight, but the late hour has never stopped us from speaking of important matters before." Nights in Skyhold with the moonlight filtering through the tall windows and balcony doors. Pre-dawn hours at Griffon Wing Keep while the chill of night was still in the air. Under the stars in some camp or another, voices low and intimate. Time never mattered when they needed to talk. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything. Anything."

Dorian told him all he could think of: his hopes, his fears, his nagging suspicions. How he hadn't had the chance to truly grieve for his father, how his mother had given him an awkward hug before departing, how Halward had, surprisingly not left a mountain of unfinished business for Dorian to clean up after. "My father was efficient and an excellent records keeper." He scratched his stubbly jaw. "I've searched through his offices and this apartment more times than you could count- _don't_ make that joke about only being able to count to five, as I'm still cross with you," he added, thankful Theo couldn't see him smile. "I've wracked my brilliant mind many times and can't figure out why anyone would want him dead."

"I'm so sorry, Dor. I can't imagine what you're going through".

"It _would_ be far more bearable with your shoulder to cry on, I'll give you that. Tell me what you've been up to, lest I drown in melancholy." Theo started into his tale of the last few months. Dorian closed his eyes; the sending crystal's magic made it sound like Theo was right next to him. "The Storm Coast?" he asked suddenly, interrupting Theo. "Maker's breath, why are you going there?"

"You don't know?" Theo asked, puzzled. "Varric told me you and Maevaris would need me to communicate what we discovered."

Dorian rubbed his eyes. "We don't know much, and I'll have to have a word with Mae about planting suggestions in Varric's ear. You shouldn't go."

A moment of silence. "You do know that, now that you've told me not to, I _have_ to go."

"It's only been a few months since… everything that happened," Dorian said. Theo responded with silence; Dorian hated bringing up his missing arm like this, but it was a legitimate concern regarding Theo's safety.

"I've learned a few things," Theo said in that evasive manner he had when he was winging it. "We're just going to look into the situation."

Dorian laughed. "Yes, because that is always exactly what happens when you're involved, _Amatus_."

"Say that again, Dor."

" _Amatus?"_ He heard Theo sigh, but it wasn't melancholy, and Dorian couldn't help but smile. "Fine, then, my _Amatus_." He glanced out the window. The moon had shifted in the sky as the hours passed. He had several committee meetings tomorrow, and much as he would have loved to keep hearing Theo's voice, it would do no good to go into the day exhausted and unprepared, and he told Theo as much. "You'll contact me again?" Dorian asked. "This isn't a one-off thing to get my hopes up?"

"Never. Though, I'll be traveling with nothing to do; you have meetings and business to attend to. You should connect with me."

"Will you answer this time?" Dorian's voice shook a bit, but he couldn't keep the fear completely at bay.

"If I don't answer, assume I'm dead," Theo told him. "I love you Dorian; I let you go once and hated myself for it, because I knew I'd hurt you."

"You can't die. Remember? I'd drink myself into oblivion. On bad wine," he added and Theo laughed. "You would do that to me?"

"Never. Dorian… I love you, and I really am sorry."

"I love you too, darling. I forgive you. Mostly," he added. "I'll forgive you fully when I'm able to see you again."

"I'll wait. Sleep well."

After, Dorian sat in a patch of moonlight staring at the crystal and remembering to breathe. The hurt was still there. There was still fear; Theo had said goodbye once, to Dorian's face. What was to stop him from doing it again? But he had to trust him. He curled up in the center of his bed, crystal still clutched in his hand.

He slept fitfully as his mind wandered the Fade that night. Desire stalked the edges of his consciousness, though his spirit friends-were they friends? They'd certainly been by him long enough, and gotten him through many a tight spot-attended to him there as well. Every time he turned about he thought he saw Theo's face, or heard his voice. He shuddered to think how difficult his night would have been had he not had the assistance of the Fade spirits.

Still, when he dragged himself into his lyrium export committee meeting (a committee he'd unfortunately inherited from his father), it was obvious he'd not slept well. He'd had a very cold wash, followed by a very hot cup of strong black coffee. He managed to stay on his feet, but was already planning a very long nap later that afternoon.

His mind thought about everything _but_ lyrium exports and regulation, and his meeting was going the way they usually did. Dorian drummed his fingers on the polished wooden tabletop as Acacius droned on about the state of lyrium in the Imperium. "With the templars disbanded in the south, and those still serving not required to take lyrium any longer, there is a glut in the market. If we don't impose stricter regulations, it will be out of control."

"And you propose more taxes to discourage this?" Hadrian asked. "You realize a blanket tax would be more than people can handle, especially with the war against the Qunari in full force."

Dorian surfaced from his sleepy haze. Hadrian was neutral; he didn't belong to any particular faction in the Magisterium. He wasn't an Altus, but he did have considerable wealth and a decent family line. If he opposed further blanket taxes, maybe he could be swayed to the Lucerni.

"Perhaps just an increase on the purchase of lyrium itself?" Tertian asked.

"Then only those purchasing the substance would be affected. If they can afford lyrium, they can afford the taxes," Dorian said. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Yes, I do listen," he said with a slight grin. "Surprising, I know. But I move to either not tax at all, and just keep an eye on the markets; or if we're going to squeeze more money out of the country, we do it to the people who can afford it."

"I'm inclined to side with Pavus here," Hadrian said.

"True, if defense is increasing their budget." Sylvester looked up from examining his nails. "Though I don't suppose the lyrium market will decline any time soon. We let defense take care of their thing, and then we'll do ours, eventually. We can wait," he said. "Besides, it's best to see how the market continues to trend."

Sylvester's support was a pleasant surprise, though Dorian didn't think he'd be swayed to the Lucerni. He was an old, fat Magister whom the current establishment had benefited. He had no incentive to investigate or eradicate any corruption. He likely wouldn't even acknowledge any corruption existed. Still, this was something worth sharing with Mae the next time they met.

Talk turned to the situation in the south. Even though Dorian had spent time down south in the thick of Chantry and Circle politics, he didn't care to discuss it much, and the old men of the Magisterium were content to pretend it had never happened. They were also content to believe that, for all his talk of reform, Dorian was no more than an upstart who had little interest in his father's business.

He glanced around at the men talking and nibbling on grapes, laughing and congratulating themselves on their own cleverness and perceived magnanimity. "Why are there no Publicans on our committee?" he asked suddenly.

A suffocating silence descended. "We're the committee on _lyrium_ exports and regulation," Acacius said slowly, staring at Dorian as if he'd turned simple. When Dorian didn't respond he raised one eyebrow. "The Publicans aren't mages. They have no use for lyrium."

"Lyrium smuggling has always been a problem, even in a land of mages. Where there's smuggling, there's Carta. Where there's Carta, there's crime. Crime affects everyone, mages and mundane types alike." Dorian used the same slow, deliberate tone. He stared across the table at Acacius. He smiled pleasantly and began to feel much more awake.

Acacius's face turned the color of wine. "Are you suggesting we add Publicans to this committee?"

Dorian shrugged. Now that the idea had crossed his mind, he liked watching Acacius battle imminent apoplexy. "Magister Acacius raises the motion to add Publicans to the committee. I, Magister Pavus, second it." He met Acacius's bulging glare across the table.

"Aye," Hadrian said. Dorian glanced over at him, but Hadrian wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Anyone else?" Sylvester asked when Acacius couldn't form any words. Sylvester waited, but Tertian didn't say anything. "Alas, overturned," he said. "But well played, Pavus," he added with a wink. "I think I speak for Chairman Acacius when I suggest we adjourn?"

The other Magisters filed out the door, but as Dorian made to exit Acacius grabbed his arm. "Your presence here is tolerated because of the groundwork your father laid," he said in a low voice. "I'd suggest you honor your father's memory."

"You may as well say 'or else' at the end of that, Acacius." Dorian deftly twisted his arm out of the fat old man's grip. "And if by groundwork you mean the connections he held with the Carta, then I'd rather _not_ honor that legacy. The Carta serves us at their pleasure; were they to turn on us, it could be disastrous, and I've seen firsthand the things of which they are capable." Acacius stood with his mouth hanging open. "If you're hoping to catch flies, continue to stand there like that, by all means. Otherwise, I'll be leaving." Dorian headed out the door but paused and looked back over his shoulder. "And Acacius, I'd suggest saving the thinly veiled threats for after business hours. Or else."

He left Acacius standing there with his mouth still hanging open, struggling for a retort, but Dorian didn't feel any sense of satisfaction. Silence spoke more than words in the realm of politics. He'd played the Carta card casually, but Acacius's inability to quickly address the matter, even with something offhand and obviously bullshit, was concerning.

Maevaris waited for him at the café where they normally had lunch. Her staff rested against the stucco wall as usual, but she kept brushing her fingers over it as if reminding herself that it was still there. Her napkin remained folded before her, and she hadn't touched her wine.

"You're going to wear off the finish if you keep that up," Dorian said as he took his seat across from her. He smiled and unfolded his napkin in his lap. Mae tried to smile back and folded her hands on the table before her to keep from unconsciously reaching for her staff again. "Are we expecting company?" He glanced around. Not that he took Acacius's threat seriously, at least not in the middle of the day at a crowded café. Still, this _was_ Minrathous.

"Carduelis isn't inclined to risk what little clout he has built up over the years," she said at last. "Not if we can't offer anything in return for his support."

"That's all?" Dorian asked, nodding thanks as a glass of wine was set before him. He placed his order. "You look like someone kicked your pet dracolisk." Mae did crack a genuine smile, but it quickly faded. "What does he want? Money? Committee positions?" Dorian quickly told her about his suggestion in his morning meeting.

"Protection," Mae said. Her lunch of a toasted flatbread topped with tapenade and sautéed fennel was set down before her, but she pushed the food around on her plate. "Several influential members of the Publicanium are talking about stepping down."

Dorian dropped his bruschetta into the sweet vinegar reduction sauce that drizzled the plate. "Stepping down." Mae nodded and now he understood her fear and agitation. He tried to smile and forced himself to take another bite of lunch. The tomatoes and basil atop the crispy herbed toast weren't nearly as sweet as they'd been a few bites ago. "If they do that…"

Mae shook her head and forced herself to eat her lunch. Keeping up appearances was a basic tenet of being a Magister. Dorian made himself take another bite and gulped down his too-bitter wine. "That's all he said," she said a bit more loudly, in a tone that Dorian knew meant Carduelis had said far more. "I wonder where they source their olives from," she said with a bright smile. "They're fantastic."

Dorian nodded and their conversation turned to Tevinter cuisine. Impatience made his stomach flip and twist and his hand shook slightly when he paid the bill. "I trust you'll return tomorrow, Magister Pavus?" the maitre d said as Dorian and Mae took their leave. He smiled pleasantly enough; after all, as a soporati he was likely to do whatever he could to stay in the good graces of his Magister patrons. But after what Mae had told him, and after Acacius's behavior, the simple farewell seemed like a challenge. Like he was daring Dorian to survive until tomorrow.

"Of course," Dorian said with a bright smile. "After all, you have the best olives in the city."


	9. Wagers

The sea's only boundary was the long, unbroken line of the horizon. The horizon didn't change, but the sea never stayed the same: blue one day under a cloudless and sunny sky, melancholy green and grey the next as clouds rolled in; and at night, always black and endless around and under them. They were one wooden ship in the midst of this vast endlessness; what chance would they stand against the sea's wrath?

Maranda thought if she went below decks, away from the vastness, she'd feel better. But below decks, she couldn't ignore the fact that only the hull separated her from the infinite depths. Thankfully she avoided seasickness, and according to the captain of the ship Viscount Tethras had hired, they'd only be on the open ocean for a few days. It was still a few days too long for her liking.

Theo's motley company at least proved interesting, and she wondered again how her baby brother had managed to bring together such a disparate group of people. Perhaps the world just worked like this, though; the Ostwick Circle certainly hadn't been a diverse slice of life.

She wandered up to the top deck the second day out. Her hands tingled and she squinted up at the cloudy sky. "We _are_ headed for the Storm Coast," Theo told her when she mentioned it to him. He leaned against the railing, staring south-east as if he could will their destination into sight. The wind blew his dark hair back from his face and his nose was pink from too much sun the day before. "Do you think you made a mistake coming along?"

Maranda shrugged. "Hard to say. It didn't seem right to head back home, but I didn't know what I'd do if I stayed in Kirkwall."

"Other than read Varric's books?"

"I got about a third of the way through _All This Shit Is Weird_ and had to put it down. Not a favorite."

"He'll be absolutely wounded if he found out." Theo grinned. "At least he was when I told him I didn't really have any interest in reading it in the first place. It wasn't personal, I just don't want to relive things that way." He turned around and leaned backward against the railing. Maranda's stomach dropped with fear, but he didn't flip back overboard. He was at ease on the sea, and she tried to feel some of that same confidence, but couldn't.

They watched Fianna and Cardenio circle one another in the center of the deck. The Queen had been elusive and quiet; she and Theo gave each other wide berths, refusing to acknowledge one another: an impressive feat, considering that on a ship there were only so many places to go and ways to avoid one another. The few times Maranda had passed her, Fianna just bobbed her head in shy greeting before hustling away.

Right now, however, there was nothing elusive or quiet about her as she dueled with Cardenio. The ship's crew sat on the railing or on the steps up to the helm and cheered them on. The Iron Bull and his Chargers watched, and up by the helm itself Varric and the captain counted money and made notes in a ledger. Maranda's interest perked up; the Ostwick Circle had been boring, but they'd made their fun when they could. She left Theo, skirted around the sailors, and approached Varric.

"What are the odds at?" The Viscount looked up at her, mildly surprised. "I used to run the books at the Circle. Off the record, of course," she added.

"Fletch didn't mention that you could work numbers that way." Varric watched as Fianna dodged Cardenio's lunge. He winced when she disappeared behind the main mast, only to reappear behind Cardenio, daggers sweeping out at him. Cardenio barely dodged and Varric released his breath.

"Theo and I have really only gotten to know one another in the last few months. I'm doubling your wager, betting on the Queen," she said after glimpsing the columns of numbers in his book. She kept her eyes fixed on the fight. The captain, a Rivaini with sun-toughened skin, chuckled. "I'll do the same with your odds," she offered.

The captain raised a bushy eyebrow. "How well do you know those two?" he asked.

"Don't know her at all, and only met him when I thought he was trying to kill my brother."

"How much are you paying me again?" he asked Varric, who told him. "Sure, why not lass. If anything you've hooked my curiosity."

Maranda scanned the numbers once more and added her wager in with a wax pencil. Cardenio was better armed; the sun glinted off any number of blades he had, and Maranda knew he had more in places no one could see. Fianna, in contrast, had only her two light daggers and she focused on moving and sweeping them while Cardenio pulled out his tricks. Fianna easily dodges his throws, which _thunked_ into the deck and the masts loud enough to hear. Each time a blade hit, the crew gasped and elbowed one another.

It was an exhibition fight, but that didn't mean there wasn't blood. Fianna had ghosted by Cardenio, drawing her blade lightly across his shoulder. One of Cardenio's smaller blades grazed her ear as it whizzed by. Out of the corner of her eye, Maranda saw Theo leaning back against the railing, studying Fianna and Cardenio. Dagna was working below decks to enchant the runes on his prosthetic arm, as they'd had to leave sooner than anticipated; but Maranda had little doubt that her brother intended to continue learning how to fight one-armed.

The crew erupted in a chorus of groans: Fianna had reached around the smallest mast and had Cardenio pinned with her daggers across his throat. "Yield," Cardenio called out, but he was grinning. Fianna dropped her daggers and sheathed them at her hips. "Well played, Warden." He bowed, a hand at his throat. "You've kept in practice."

"You can say it, you know. I'm old." She shook Cardenio's hand. "All the same, thanks for the practice. Anyone who wants to fight the loser, go for it! I need to rest this old body." Fianna bowed low and the crew applauded, but quickly began grumbling as they made their way to the helm.

The captain glanced down at the ledger, then up at his crew. "You _all_ bet on the Antivan?" he asked, incredulous. "I would give you your bets back, but…" He gestured to Maranda. "Someone else took a bigger risk with the odds."

For one moment Maranda's stomach sank into her feet and she was certain she'd find out just how deep the ocean was in these parts. Being the former Inquisitor's sister wasn't going to hold any weight in this no-man's land. "It's alright, I don't need-"

"A wager's a wager," one sailor said. "Besides, I think we can win that coin back."

Maranda glanced up. Theo was talking to Cardenio, who nodded. "A challenger approaches!" Cardenio called, a huge grin on his face. "Place your wagers!"

"I'm betting on your brother." Fianna Cousland settled next to Maranda. She tied her auburn hair back and squinted in the sun. Cardenio and Theo whispered about something on the deck and Cardenio replaced his knives in his various holsters. "He's scrappy and has nothing to lose." A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

This close, Maranda saw the faint lines around Fianna's eyes and the hollows of her cheeks were more pronounced. With a start Maranda realized Fianna was actually _younger_ than she was. Then again, Maranda knew little about the Wardens; whatever had made Fianna a Warden must have also contributed to her aging. "One could say the same about Cardenio," she said at last.

Fianna shook her head. "He's flashy. He has a reputation to maintain, and that makes him get careless. He's talented as shit with those knives of his, but get right down to it and you can see why no assassins guild would take him."

"You can tell all this just by looking at him?"

"Nah. We chatted a bit back in Kirkwall. I drank him under the table."

Maranda laughed; Fianna was thin and flexible and didn't like like she could hold more than a glass of wine. Then again, she'd been matching the Iron Bull shot for shot, and he was easily twice her size. "Cardenio may be flashy and get a bit careless, but he still has two arms. That and Theo just started working with knives fairly recently, so I'm going to be cautious on this wager." She held out her hand. "I'll take your bet."

Fianna shook it. Her hand was hot, and Maranda thought she felt some strange magic there, but Fianna withdrew her hand quickly and they turned to watch Theo and Cardenio on the deck below. The sun bore down overhead, and nearly everyone on deck had short or no sleeves; many of the crew had taken their shirts off. Fianna wore long sleeves, even though she radiated heat. She rested her elbows on the railing and watched.

Cardenio lunged and swiped at Theo, who evaded it with an elegant back step and pivot. Cardenio heaved a knife Theo's way, but he sidestepped that and ducked out of the way of Cardenio's follow-up swipe. Cardenio buzzed past him, jabbing with one knife while he extricated his other from the door to the captain's quarters. Sweat ran down his face, but he paused to acknowledge the crowd; the sailors laughed. Cardenio nimbly hopped up the stairs and grabbed Maranda's hand, meaning to kiss it, but she jerked her hand out of his.

More laughter, and Maranda blushed furiously. Cardenio winked, all but daring her to use the same force spell she'd used against him before, but this was Theo's duel. Theo, for his part, had hopped up the steps to the helm on the other side, weaving through the gathered crew members. He heaved his knife at Cardenio, who dodged and backflipped off the railing and back onto the deck, bowing to the applause below. "It would seem you are disarmed," Cardenio called, stooping to grab Theo's knife.

"He's not very original," Fianna observed. Suddenly she spun around. "Give it back," she snapped.

"Just borrowing," Theo said breathlessly, his face red and glistening with sweat, and he held one of Fianna's daggers. He launched himself off the railing and back to the deck before Fianna could snatch it back. He hit hard and rolled, jumping to his feet as Cardenio came after him. He circled around Cardenio, who lobbed his knives at Theo; Theo ducked; Cardenio sprung off of a windlass, grabbing the rigging hanging from the lowest crossbeam of one of the masts. He kicked Theo in the back; Theo stumbled forward. Fianna's dagger skittered across the deck. Cardenio swung down and landed next to Theo, scooping up Fianna's blade.

Theo went for one of his hidden knives, but Cardenio stepped on his wrist. Maranda gasped without meaning to. Cardenio knew this was just an exhibition, didn't he? He wasn't _really_ an undercover assassin, hired by any one of Theo's enemies. Her mana welled up, force magic pulsing at her tingling fingertips as Cardenio bore down on Theo with Fianna's dagger. "Yield?" he asked with a grin.

"Yield," Theo said with a sigh. The money started changing hands as he got to his feet. His shirt was soaked with sweat and he struggled out of it, using the wad of clothing to wipe off his face. He dropped it on the deck as someone tossed him a water skin. He retreated to the railing and drank deeply as he stared out to sea.

Fianna dug into one of the belt pouches at her waist and pulled out a small bag of coins. Maranda shook her head, but Fianna shook out the money and handed it over. "A wager's a wager," she said with a hint of a smile before she headed below decks.

Maranda rejoined Theo. "It was a good fight," she said after a moment of silence. "I'm sorry you lost."

Finally he shrugged. "I knew I'd lose."

"The Queen bet on you."

Theo snorted. "Probably felt bad for me." He set down the water skin and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Honestly, I just need all the practice I can get." He trailed his fingers along the scarring that covered the end of his upper arm.

"What do you think we're going to find when we get to the Storm Coast?" Maranda stared out at the horizon. "You keep talking about learning to fight again and how important it is to you, but why? What's out there?"

"Varric says his Tevinter contact mentioned slavers. If the Warden Queen's along, there's probably darkspawn. Other than that? No idea. I'd just rather not be caught defenseless, you know?" She nodded. "You can hold your own in a fight, right?" He peered at her, brow furrowed. "When you agreed to come along it never occurred to me to ask. I suppose I'm just used to mages who can fight."

Maranda conjured a small ball of lightning at her fingertips. The arcs of electricity danced between her fingers before she waved her hand and the spell dissipated. "When my-our-uncles came to take me to the Circle, they made it clear that I was lucky our father had called _them_ and not any other templars, with what I could do." She saw the telltale darkness in the sky to the west. "Uncle Cadan, especially, made me promise to be good and to focus on keeping the peace. Keep your head down, pay attention to your lessons, be a good girl, he told me. I never thought much about combat magic. Of course, then the whole system went to shit, so I suppose it doesn't matter."

Theo glanced over at his sister. "So… what _can_ you do?"

She shook out her hands and focused on the clear, bright eastern sky. "I hope we don't have to find out."


End file.
